Catch Me If You Can
by FanFicAddict02
Summary: In the uncivilised world where blood can be slaughtered and opinions can be sentenced, Woodrow Pride's heart lies in riches. But he doesn't know where it is. However, when the Fates lead him to a sentenced girl for the second time, he might just find out.
1. The Heaver of the Life

_**Prologue**_

Disclaimer: I do not own Toy Story or any of its characters._  
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_The overpowering echo of a bell against brickwork spiralling endlessly through the cold night of the oncoming day sounded throughout the massive expanse of the recently coordinated Area Five, District Eleven. The time had struck the day the third Long Run was set to lose his life_

_Crystal Jewels began to emerge within the pit of the Long Run's stomach when the extensive rings of the solemn Church Bell, located Point Blank in the centre of the so called 'Town' found along the peripheral rims of the District where he was only hours away from losing his life he had only just found, sounded. The anxious emerging of metaphorical greed he had spent the lesser half of his life trying to escape from jabbed at his insides, making him feel like he was bleeding inside when the pain pricked his core; the ache internal, but everlasting - until death that is…._

_Shaking his head in defeat, he directed his longing gaze away from the serious matters in life that were about to engulf him into the mass charades that would play with his mind even after facing the end and instead turned the focus of his attention towards the fantasies his own mind would create. Formed from matters unknown always. But it was these exact matters that would often lead to the escape route he'd follow to escort him away from the haunting world around him as the anxiousness arose and the terror crested inside him throttled his senses vigorously; using its own inner will to suppress any sound his common sense could emit, disintegrating any logic that may keep any of the empty spots in him fresh in the meanwhile._

_The world was full of the unknown where his mind was now perched, wandering aimlessly. Full of matters that had been left for him by the Spirits of the Day to explore, where his Imagination can flourish and his wishes can exist. A sharp breath of air drew exactly what he wanted, spilling out what his mind could perceive right before his eyes in rushing torrents of dreams and unfulfilled wishes he would never meet in the real world he had once tried so hard to make himself known in - the world where he was now known for all of the wrong reasons._

_However though, the surging essence of Imagination overpowered the lurking thoughts during this moment in time, striking down anything unnecessary as he pictured the world not many others could illustrate during the new sinking ages that deprived Earth's technological development into smouldering ashes; the bottom of the pits in his perspective, but he was ready to forgive the world for their disregarded sins if all turned out well. This was exactly why his soul had been cleaned all of those years before this day. Cleaned of all the bad essences it had once contained by a friend he had grown to truly respect. Someone he had come to trust even when the rest of the world had turned their backs on him. Turned their backs on him and his companions that hadn't been slaughtered the day whole hell broke loose._

_He was in here because of the strong scent his blood withheld, he knew this much at least. With Light comes the Dark. With what is learnt comes what has been forgotten as well, which is what the fifty-year-old Long Run trapped behind the rusting bars had come to realise as the unfaithful seconds of his day lured him deeper into their depths. With the Day follows the Night - that cannot be changed. Though the change is needed if the World were to ever seek the opportunities to morph the hell hole Society had created into what it had once been: Organized; civilized; and a place where the Technology and the Powerful hadn't destroyed hope of a better future as yet. Because now - well - the whole continent had nothing to make the fateful ends meet. Nothing to bind their hopes on land and nothing to keep their dreams from crash landing. Nothing to support the Western World through its times of inevitable crisis. And nothing to keep the finger of blame off the dagger where it truly belonged - which is fatal if anything._

_Those with the patience to ponder over the exact matters that had plunged the world into the disloyal pits of pessimism would often ask themselves if there was anything left in Modern Society for the public to cling onto to receive the forged sense of reassurance they needed to lift their optimism up from the deceiving ashes. Some would ponder for a while to find the answer. For some, only a few minutes would be needed. For the rest - well - they were already unfaithfully aware of the answer to the question before even asking themselves. Sometimes, the answer itself could take a while to disentangle fully. But at other times the answer could have done the work of unwrapping itself for the reader to read already. No matter how long it could have taken or how hard it may have been, the answer was always the same: Nothing. The World had nothing left to cling onto._

_Lost in his own world in the attempt to solve the mysteries that still lingered throughout the barriers of his once corrupted mind, he didn't ask himself this question as the hours and the minutes - and the taunting seconds… - to his set time of day counted down to his death. The force that had taken over his country those two and a half decades before hadn't distributed the slightest hint of mercy towards him. Not that he would have expected it though. Out of those they hadn't killed the day the country eventually turned their backs on them, despite how hard he and his colleagues may have tried during those times to model the Economy back into shape, two Long Runs had already lost their lives to the hands of the superior influences shaping the Western World in all the wrong ways. And he was set to be the third. The third Long Run to lose his life for the 'Good of Mankind' starting from O'seven hundred and five after the dawn of the day rose to its peak. On the dot as always. The trigger was always pulled promptly. Death, however (even for those having not been branded a Long Run), sometimes delayed itself. Leaving some to face the unearthly pain inflicted by the disgraceful powers of the world in silence - or in the lip-tightening howls of the lungs; it really didn't matter as long as the life was taken - as reality faded into a mocking charade of twisted mind games and the treacherous cheers emitted from the surrounding crowds who were forced to pay one dollar each to overlook the death of the disgrace to nature. A dollar hard to get but worth very little given the lurking hyperinflation that had struck the tampered continent all those years before. But a dollar most definitely worth spending - no denying that._

_To watch the rare death of a Long Run take place though, one would have to pay up to five dollars; which most would have to save up for at least a month to achieve. And, to most who had watched the lives of the previous two individuals who had taken part in letting the world stand where it now stood, every penny spent of this was most definitely worth spending, saving, and even bleeding for in some cases._

_On the contrary though, his part in presumably destroying society had been smaller compared to some of the others on the wanted list set specifically for the Long Runs. He was no Hanson Jacques for sure, who had been at the top of the list and, conveniently for the country, had been the first to lose his life, though he had been third on that list; just as he was the third to lose his life. Not that they hunted the Long Run's in the order of their bounties, but the hunt for the ones found at the top of the list were always far more severe than the ones for those found at the bottom. It just turned out coincidentally that the third on the list had been the third to lose his life. Mike Hatcher, the highest now found on the list given that Jacques had already been slaughtered by this point, had been second most wanted; but the fifth once found on the list had been the second to be captured and slaughtered. Nevertheless though, no mercy would ever be given to anyone on the said list. And any given could result in yet another execution. Not that the greater powers of the country would mind though. Everything would run far better if there weren't so many people around to disrupt happenings and cause chaos if anything went out of hand. More mouths to have fed - though they intentionally fail to allow this to happen on a daily basis - would only get in the way. Fewer mouths to speak their minds would smoothen the process up to yet another entirely higher extent._

_Ignoring these matters completely for the time being - not that he could do anything about them anyway with his death being as close as it was to taking place - the Long Run observed the wishes and the desires his mind now perceived, and found himself engulfed within the wonders as his grey eyes softened in tone and complexity. Sights like this were ones he had always wanted to see perched soundly in the world, and this may have led him to find the desire to 'want' to change the world from what it had been to something far better. This though, as obvious, only ever led to the position he was at now. Withholding a clean soul with a sentence of Death lingering above his shoulders like the fresh drops of the crystal nectar desired by Satan. The cleansing of his soul may have been the only 'bright' side to this situation, but even this compared very little to the dreams that led him to one's worst nightmare. The words had been said, but the opinions were still sentenced. And his veins had even bled, but his blood would still be slaughtered in the end. Maybe this was what prevailed in the end for all? Even in the brightened world his mind envisioned now as he awaited his time of death._

_The conviction and the sentence of death had taken four hours, but awaiting death had taken a week and he hadn't slept a wink in this time. Lost in despair over what he was going to leave behind, he had been. Flooding with guilt over what he had caused, he had been too. Regretful of any of his decisions after the cleansing of his soul had taken place though? He often asked himself. This was one of the questions he had pondered over for a long while, but he had only come to one definite conclusion: Most definitely not._

_Envisioning the world in the way it could have turned out had taken a lot of perseverance to illustrate fully, but it had given off its own rewards in the end. It helped ease his senses and helped purify the thoughts lingering endlessly through his mind in dashing torrents of eager zest and a longing passion to suppress any trace of confidence he might still have left within him. And he needed a clear spirit to do what he wanted to do next; the one last thing he wanted to do before subjecting to the faint echoes of the darkness which would remain permanent after the time of his death._

_The spirits lurking through the air in the world he had pictured could not be seen, but he knew they were there in spite of the contradicting theories the world had taken into their system of beliefs. The Spirits of the Day inflicting just the ever so subtle changes upon Society in imperceptible motions whilst holding the Spirits of the Night (the souls that had not been cleaned of the bad parasites) off and keeping them from causing trouble amongst the running of a peaceful world whilst everything else was simply - content; that was the best way to describe it. He smiled inwardly at the thought despite the day that lay ahead of him. He had hoped that the world could have been like this - that there really was something there to look to when times turned bad - and, though he had come to experience similar matters to hand, it took a lot to convince himself of this when the chilling air of the night reminded him of the times that lay ahead. Would there really be someone there for him when he lost his life - when the people of his life lost 'him'? And, if so, would it be a Spirit of the Day to smile at him for the recent deeds he had done, or would it be one of the Night that would smile a ghastly grin before prolonging his death for as long as it could after the trigger was pulled? It was hard to tell which it would be, because he couldn't see them in the physical world. Never mind able to decipher the good from the bad._

_He shook his head and tore himself away from the provoking thoughts. The most likely case would turn out to be that no-one, dead or alive, would take his aid for the sins against Society he had committed all of those years before. And all of those close to him were about to suffer due to the fact that he had been caught. This, of course, sent the guilt spiralling off course._

_In an act of desperation, he unwilling called the one thing he had wanted to do before he died forward sooner than he had expected. His clean soul ventured away from his body unsure of which way to go - he had never learnt these acts properly given that he had never tried, so it proved to be difficult for his soul to exit his body and exile itself away from reality in the position he was currently at. In reality, he shouldn't know how to do this, and it shouldn't be possible where he was at either, with none of the correct instruments at his hands ready to be used. But Improvisation had been key for this as he unconsciously cleared his spirit of any bad parasite that may have crept into his soul overnight from top to bottom. From where he was sat on the bare frame of the bed that had been provided to the cell from the darkening authorities, he could only hope that this use of his imagination could be put into good use._

_Calling for the spirit he needed to guide him into the world he wanted to enter, he clung onto the steel body of the horse he was perched upon to steady himself. Improvisation may be excellent to have in all areas, but not always as sufficient as it could be; and the golden-haired (hinted ever so slightly with aged grey), sombre-eyed Long Run became fatefully aware of this when he opened his eyes to the surroundings around him. But he chose to ignore this considering that it was of no importance in this situation, as long as he could get the job done then he'd settle with walking in the darkness if the need arose._

_The area around him was gloomy, shadowing all light around with the ghostly presences of dark patches among the ground, but yet luminous. Allowing him to see everything around when, to speak truthful matters, there was nothing to be seen. Ghostly, but yet empty._

_He shook his head again and forced himself to focus. The reason he was here still hung within the back of his mind, reminding him of why he needed to do this before he passed away in less than seven hours time. Matters needed to be cleared off the board, and there was nothing else to it really. That and he needed to be reassured that all would turn out right enough by the time his life was lost. So he called the spirit guide forward, asking her to lead him into the world where he could confront her face to face for the first time in fifteen years._  
><em>When an abrupt thought suddenly occurred to him, he found his gaze travelling down to the steel mare he was perched upon and his eyebrows arched in suspicion, wondering whether she had the ability to communicate with him. The theory may have been idiotic in many ways, but this didn't seem to occur to him as he stroked the mare's mane in the hopes that, somehow, this might get the message he was urging forward across. However, the horse simply strolled forward, passing through the darkness of the luminous world as it searched for the source its rider desired.<em>

_So it couldn't speak then? Well - that made sense. After all, if a horse was made of steel, then its lungs must be as well. This hadn't occurred to him before…_

_Shaking his head, he discarded these thoughts and carried on forward, that one part of his mind still calling out to the spirit guide to lead him where he truly belonged. Where he could face her again; the bearer of the life he cherished with all of his heart._

_Feeling a sudden sense of light-headedness entangle his senses, he lowered his head and rubbed his temples with his fingers. Having had no experience of this world whatsoever, it most certainly wasn't pleasant. Again though, he shouldn't be doing this in the first place; especially when it was a profession that didn't often linger through the world during these times, and one hard to gain control of. And, if the current, known Master of such acts found out that one who hadn't been a follower had tried to compete in such an act, he could end up suffering a consequence far worse than death. Even in spite of the fact that he had practically sunk as far as he could go by this time already. Neither adrenaline nor vengeance had led him here, so he wasn't doing this out of spite. But, instead, an urge crested within him told him to halt his actions when he had; stopping abruptly within the midst of the gloomy world he seeks aid within._

_"You shouldn't be attempting this as an untrained individual, Saunders." A voice spoke up, heavenly to the very last syllable that slid past her delicate lips. A voice he had easily traced straight back to her. Not his love, but the bearer of one he had grown to love._

_The man known by the name of Saunders turned around on the mare towards the source of her voice swiftly, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. The appearance that hadn't changed since the time of her Death. Of course, he hadn't been there when she had passed away, but the own love of her life had. And the news had been passed onto him by the said individual. Needless to say, the news had torn his newly cleansed spirit apart fifteen years before given that he had loved her like a sister when they had been close friends as children - the friendship retaining all throughout life and even up to the point of her Death. But he had been forced to push the feelings of despair aside to focus on the truly important matters following his life that he had to face_

_A gentle gust in the dense space of the empty world sent her free-flowing hair drifting slightly in the wind, scarlet entangling with the coppery appearance of her hair that reflected the abnormal extracts of the gloomy light from the area around them. The light shadowed the pale skin tone of her face, silhouetting the courageous brilliance of her cerulean eyes mirroring the perfect appearance of the morning sky his world had been deprived of for so long due to the man-made clouds lurking through the skies - permanently._

_She stood lower than the man on the horse, but she still seemed to outshine the bulky man in every other way possible. The gown she wore was pure white and made of velvet, décors framing the very tips of the fabric making both her and the gown appealing to one's eye, locking the natural beauty her form withheld into place as he gaped down at her form widened eyes. The world she had guided him through only seemed to enhance her qualities in his perspective, though he severely doubted it. She always had been naturally beautiful after all. Which was ultimately no surprise given the fact that she was the bearer of such a beauty._

_When he realized that he hadn't answered her as yet, he shook his head and tried to conceal his embarrassment. Important matters were facing him at this very moment, so he shouldn't allow anything to distract him in the slightest. Well - to be fair - she had once held the ability to make a man turn on his heels with a single glance when she had been alive, so at least he had managed to contain himself now. Otherwise - well - he didn't know what he'd have done._

_Eventually regaining his common sense, he shook his head and answered._

_"I know this, Thyra." He admitted slowly, his voice weary and husky._

_**-Did he?-** She wondered. **-Did he truly understand just how much interfering could take its toll upon the coming events?-**_

_The rest of his unspoken answer still lingered through his mind, and he did every so often question it. Would his reason for breaking the hidden rules, engraved within the minds of every single one of those followers he had never been given the chance to be, be plausible enough? Or would it just lead him along the steady path towards a fate worse than facing Death itself? He asked himself this briefly, the matters only flashing through his mind once more time before the bullet pierced his heart, but then came to the realization that the true answer lay far beyond his reach. Close enough to catch the blaze of the spark, but too far away to spot the small flames dancing in the night's moonshine._

_"-but I need to sort something out first." He finished, his tone almost shaking when he realized that his voice was echoing throughout the chasms of the luminous darkness around him. The world around him felt so empty, and yet he knew it was densely packed with the lives of the dead. They mightn't seem visible to the naked eye at first, but it just took the inner strength and the knowledge of where to look to spot anything other than a chasm of darkness. Maybe his old colleagues and the other two Long Runs' were here? Again, as he reminded himself, he just had to know where to look. Maybe he'd spot them after he passed away? It seemed plausible enough - yes - but would he really be able to see past it all? All of the submerging desolation crisping the air around him with the silence he found unbearable? Would his vision alter when seeing through the eyes of a looming spirit rather than a physical individual? Asking himself this, he came to no conclusion. He blinked hard, suddenly feeling very flustered, before trying to add: "Before I-" His voice trailed off from there, not knowing quite what to say. Was there any point in trying to prolong the inevitable being as close to Death as he was? Or would it all reach to a Dead End? Just as his life had. He asked himself this as well, but only groaned in frustration when the thoughts veered out of control. The weightlessness of this world seemed to play on his thoughts as well as his lurking form, leading them off into any possible direction. Aimless, yes, but very thorough with the taunting irritations it inflicted upon his wandering soul._

_Somehow managing to read his expression like an open book, gifted with the magnificence of the ancient text she had grown an interest in deciphering, Thyra's eyebrows faltered in alignment with her facial structure. The inner hunches crested gently within her were becoming more vigilant, and she suddenly felt a great sense of concern for this man overpowering her inner being. Of course, she had come to learn from the other Spirits that her old friend had been caught and captured and was set to lose practically everything in his life; including things he had sacrificed so much for just to feel the awakening gratitude of overlooking such things wash over his senses like the mesmerising echoes of content bliss. And she had found out just how close his sentence was to being completed. This poor man who had sacrificed so much was about to lose his life for making a simple mistake he had already made up for by this day. A clean soul wasn't easy to obtain. Extracting every bad parasite from one's soul was even harder, and far more painful than one would think. And, yet, the rest of Society didn't seem to care. The thought made her insides dampen unfaithfully, and her expression showed exactly this._

_"Your heart is as brave as you are wise, Heaver of the Life." Thyra stated wisely, her words corrupting the irrational thoughts of his mind in a gentle, soothing motion - one that made him want to breath in a deep sigh, and exhale it deeply. The mention of this term always made him feel so secure; as though all of the events in his life had led to this, and as though he had been born to play this exact role. The one who heaves the Life that had the potential to shape the world in either direction up and past their ultimate capability to make the best of what they had been born with. The Power to change. However though, as the Heaver of the Life had come to learn, Life can spiral off in any of the two given directions. And sometimes the preferences of some individuals tipped down towards the wrong end of the scale… "Taking on even Death for the better good of Mankind when your inner will is screaming out in protest."_

_He forced back a gasp at that. Even if she hadn't been this skilled in translating the most complex expressions and markings into very brief and simple conclusions from a young age, it was clear that she had always been destined to follow the path she had led. Now that he truly thought about it, she had always been the Peace Maker in disputes; the one who read everything and anything thoroughly to make the impossible ends meet, with words just as wise spoken from the core of her inner being like the fresh zest found encrypted within the juices of the Master's nectar. It was no wonder where the next Txiv Neeb had the essence of her own wild spirits passed down from, as he had always seen this clearly. Even from a very young age the next Great Txiv Neeb had once been._

_Panting slightly, Saunders forced his thoughts to steady._

_"But it isn't for their good though." He muttered uselessly, unconsciously stroking the mane of the steel mare he was positioned upon with the ball of his thumb. He spoke the truth though. Every single word he uttered was as honest as the next. "It's their incompetence to see the truth where it stands."_

_From where she stood, Thyra took a step closer to the mare and stroked the horse's muzzle soothingly and hummed to herself lightly. The mare seemed to love the gentle touch, because it neighed gently and leant into the touch. The neighing, given the fact that the horse seemed to be made of pure steel, emitting off he impression that everything about it was artificial in the slightly comical way, struck Saunders as odd. But he didn't dare ponder over this for long as he waited or Thyra to answer._

_"They may be incompetent, Heaver of the Life." Thyra stated briefly, her voice mesmerizing right back to the very source of the tone. "But it isn't their fault. One is only as narrow-minded as they have been brought up to be." She paused slightly, awaiting any answer from the opposing individual from the Land of the Living. There was none. "So I'm grateful that your soul was able to perceive the matters of Life more clearly than others. I don't think I could thank you enough for that."_

_Her last statement brought something else forward into the focus of his mind, and he found that it had been concerning the true matters he had come here for in the first. The truly important aspects in the coming future he needed to debrief to feel comforted before he was shot with the lethal bullet._

_"The Txiv Neeb," He began briefly, having to inhale deeply to carry on with what he had started saying. "W-will she be-"_

_Again, his voice trailed off into the unearthly distance and he suddenly found himself at a loss for words for the second time in such the short period he had been here. However, to his fortune, she had been able to read his mind like the back of her hand._

_"She has been raised well, Heaver of the Life. But now she must learn her path from here. With the aid of others, the choice will be decided and the changes will be effected."_

'But how?'_ He questioned himself. Just how will the world be affected once the next Master realizes its true strengths? He continued to ask himself this, but, with no surprise, Thyra had managed to read his expression before he even knew that he had been portraying it._

_"I may be able to look over the acts of Life, Saunders. But reading the Future is something I cannot do."_

_He blinked hard to clear his thoughts and suddenly shook his head in a sense of half-hearted disbelief._

_"But you're the Bearer."_

_"But of _what?_" She asked impatiently, her voice sounding very on edge as her bright cerulean eyes darkened unnaturally. "The Night or the Day?"_

_"It's not the Night." Saunders protested quickly, his voice as honest as it was wary. "She'd never be one of the Night."_

_His words brought along a long trail of thick silence that hung between the two of them like a barrier between two completely different worlds, ranging from a heck of a lot more than Life and Death; and this silence made the Heaver of the Life feel uneasy where he sat. It didn't seem natural actually, but he forced the feeling aside before fixating his gaze on the beautiful form of the Dead Spirit._

_"But is there any way for us to be sure?" She questioned, more to herself than the individual opposing her. "Because that's the catch. We won't know until the time comes…" Her voice trailed off slightly, and then the inept silence washed through the space in between the two of them yet again. But this one had been more prolonged than the others, and the time only passed by like the blink of an eye. Leading him closer to his own death. Forcing back a sigh of half-hearted exasperation, Thyra asked: "Does she know?"_

_Caught off guard by the sudden snap in the silence, Saunders shook his head again. His mind felt numb as he racked through his thoughts for the small words that would form the correct answer._

_"No…" He began huskily, his tone of voice mutual. "No. I never mentioned a thing."_

_Her eyes flickered for a moment, as though her reaction to hearing his answer had been slightly indecisive. For the most, he didn't know what is was behind the slight flicker in the complexion of her sky-like eyes, but it was enough to gather that the true meaning behind his answer had been ambiguous. He, for one, didn't know how to react to this. So his facial expression didn't change._

_"I am grateful to you for that. The knowledge of such a thing for a child of that age can be dangerous. But there is no mistaking the inevitable here, Heaver of the Life. The Future will eventually unravel itself. And when it does, we can only hope that the true evils of the Earth will fall."_

_An instinct made him nod, though the entire situation didn't help clear his mind in the way he had hoped._

_"You're soul has been cleansed." She suddenly began, catching Saunders slightly off guard. "But your sins haven't been forgotten by the world. And for this, you must face up to the hands of death." She paused, awaiting a reaction she didn't receive. Instead, his expression faltered slightly. "I'm sorry, old friend. But your time has come quicker than you might think."_

_With that said, the world around him faded and he found himself shivering when he felt the cold winds of the resting dawn brush against his bare chest, and the sudden realization of this exact position came streaming back and struck his core with force._

_For Long Runs, and unlike others facing death due to the hands of the superior force he was about to lose his life to, their dignity was stripped completely when the trigger was pulled. With all dying bare-chested so that the onlookers could be satisfied with the fact that they were receiving justice for the crimes against Society the Long Runs had committed those two and a half decades before. It was the puncture that came with the bullet that really proved that the taking of the life had been completed, and most were here to day to see exactly this: The bullet in the Heaver of the Life's heart._

_The courtyard had been rebuilt recently, therefore extending the area of the grounds in order to allow more onlookers to observe the passing of an execution to make a better profit out of unexplainable acts. And today - well - the ground was packed with watchers, making Saunders feel unnerved all the more. The crowd blocked almost all light the gloomy courtyard would emit to help him perceive the brighter future that would most presumably never come, leaving his mind and senses ajar and vulnerable to the inevitable._

_He tried to pull his hands free from their bounds when he caught sight of the faces gaping at him, the chants and the comments ringing through his mind like toxic torrents of wave energy, but soon realized that he had no chance of escaping free from this._

_-That's right. They always tie the prisoners to the wooden stand…-_

_Despite what he had told himself previously - that he'd stand up to death with courage - he couldn't help but feel on edge now when he caught sight of the executioner. A large man with a gold and black decorated porcelain mask fitted to his face and dressed in dark rags. And his nerve went haywire when he saw the Magnum Revolver in his hands. Everything within him was pushed over the edge when he saw the Revolver being unloaded and reloaded and he suddenly became unfaithfully aware of the apparent fear etched within his steely grey eyes._

_However though, in the matter of a few seconds, he felt everything within him simply, drift… And he found his gaze shifting to the right, where he saw another man dressed in black. But his senses flourished when he saw that this one was of no threat to him. The black veil covering his face was enough to prove exactly that._

_Inhaling deeply, his nerves settling, Saunders watched as the man supposedly pressed his fingers to his lips and lifted his hand to his head. Tapping his forehead twice, his hand trailed lower and did the same to the exterior surroundings of his heart._

_**- Your heart is as courageous as you are brave, -**_

_The Heaver of the Life felt his breath catch in his throat and then, suddenly, the anxiousness crested deeply into his heart seemed to just, dissolve away… His spirit seemed to flourish within his physical body, and his senses felt enlightened. The world seemed to stop, and then it was just him and the veiled man communicating in this 'wonderful' way._

_Closing his eyes blissfully, these words became encrypted into the back of his mind:_

_**-Your soul is clean.-**_

_These words set his enlightened senses ablaze, and suddenly the rest of the world didn't seem to matter anymore. Everything in his life had led to this very moment, and he now became fatefully aware of this: The sins committed under his name; the cleansing of his soul; the heaving of the life; his own death. It all added up in the end for him. It all connected together for a reason, and this reason was vital. His death and the suffering - well - it was to happen. But in no way would this be the end. The end to his existence in the physical world - yes - but the real kick start in the fate for the rest of the world._

_Live life. Love a Loved One. Die in the hands of Death. Affect the fates in a way that not many souls would be able to amount to. It all happened for a reason._

_And for this reason, but not this reason alone, he wasn't afraid anymore._

_Meeting the veiled figure's hidden gaze, the Heaver of the Life could quite easily imagine the grassy green emeralds commending him for the life he had led, and Saunders nodded gratefully. Inaudibly thanking the man behind the veil for cleaning his soul all those years before this day. The Cleanser of his soul nodded mutually, and returned the blessings._

_**-I thank you.-**_

_Allowing his newly found confidence to seek any sense his mind withheld, the Heaver of the Life inhaled deeply and directed his gaze towards the executioner who had already locked his aim on Saunders heart. The Long Runs went without dignity, and received no prayers to take with them back to the afterlife. Not that he had expected them to begin with. Not with these people - no._

_Locking his secure gaze onto the image of Death; Saunders inwardly blessed everyone that had done him good in his life. Even those who had turned him in to dock the reward for his capture at their own expenses. It wasn't their fault really when he thought about it. The world nowadays had turned so bad for the one's who had tried to make good._

_Inhaling deeply, Saunders braced himself for his death. Awaiting it patiently like many others in his current position wouldn't._

_His soul was clean. So this was one of the real positives of this situation. All of the bad things had been taken away from his soul all so long before. And he didn't regret a single decision in life he had made. It may have destroyed him inside, completely. But even this didn't seem to matter now. Because it all led up to this, and onwards from now._

_His soul was clean, and he was to leave life with no regrets._

_This was what really blocked the pain away and deafened him from the nonsensical roars of the surrounding crowd when the bullet was thrust into his heart, impounding any life within him into the ashes that would be swept away into the deceiving winds once his body was incinerated._

_Since, as he knew well, Life would only go on from here…_


	2. The Distant Echoes of Reassurance

_**Chapter One**_

The distant crackling of the radio set her nerves ablaze as she pressed the worn device to her ears, the far away activity scratching her mind as she clung to the source of life out of a sense of pure desperation.

At her side, her small brother - too traumatized to utter a single word as the dragging days lured him deeper into their depths - whimpered slightly as he embraced the twenty-one year old fiercely for dear life, racking his ear drums to listen in on the distant echoes of solemn hospitalization they both needed to survive.

"Where is - your - station located?" A scratchy voice too worn to be identified as belonging to a physical life-form questioned the saviour at the other end of his line; the space of time between uttering each word reaching out unevenly as the radio's signal began to jam.

For a moment or two, the young woman was convinced that only her radio signal had been corrupted given that her located area never had been very secure, but was soon proven otherwise when a sharp sound tore through her ears; her mind reeling at the sound giving off the impression that one of the two men had been messing with a device of their own to improve the appalling quality of their own signals.

Despite the fact that the ligaments in her right forearm had been torn - never healing - and the nerves in her hand were faulty, she chose to ignore the pain as she pressed the device to her ears as firmly as she could - this didn't matter to her now - hoping that, somehow, she'd hear what she wanted to hear by doing this. In spite of her provoking hopes though, she doubted this would be the case. Nothing for either her or her brother had been gone decently recently (she considered this to be unfair - but she really had no choice in the matter) which could help be proven by their current location in the midst of a primarily vacant city. The destruction of the city obviously being due to both air raids and bomb droppings - none of them being too severe though. Just enough to cause damage, a few deaths as well as frighten any scavengers, working to 'all' avail. Even the young woman herself had been victim to some of the raids and droppings. Her right arm and hand had been damaged due to falling rubble during one of the air raids. Though she did consider herself to have been quite fortunate. At least her whole arm hadn't been crushed; she honestly didn't know what she'd do if this had been the case.

She clung onto the device even more tightly out of anxiety when nothing was heard for a few moments other than the breaking currents of radio static, fearing briefly that all hope of feeling reassured by his voice for one last time was lost. But in no way had this been irrational, and the fear of such a thing being lost doubled in intensity as she heard the pit-pattering of the spitting rain against their water bucket to her right, disrupting whatever sounds she could make out from the splitting of the static. She hoped she could've heard through this, but when it had turned out that she couldn't she ended up being left frustrated. It didn't help that she and her brother had both been as worn out as each other either as they listened in to copyright the reassurance for themselves, because patience was valuable during times like these. And the young woman had very little left.

Her tolerance veered over the line when her patience eventually snapped, so she cursed and kicked the bucket against the far wall of the detached alleyway. Her action only ended with her scalding at herself when her brother let out a small sob for making their only supply of water inept before turning her attention back to the static.

_'Come on!' _ The young woman urged mentally as she caressed her mute brother's side with her decent hand in a soothing motion. _'You can't break up now - please!'_

Her right hand shook vigorously due to how firmly she clasped the instrument in within her grasp and it hurt, the pain more deceiving than the actual injury had been itself when fresh - the swelling had been monstrous in her opinion, but her brother had tried to convince her otherwise. But she tried to overcome this as the mesmerizing buzzing of the radio's static vibrated against her ear drums. The damaged nerves in her right hand were of an inconvenience (only her thumb and her middle finger were of any use to her and the muscles within her hand would sometimes collapse completely, disabling all possible movement that could me made for an indefinite length of time that always varied if she ever partook in any strenuous activity) but she reminded herself that, in some ways, all was fortunate. At least she could manoeuvre her movements around aiming and pumping a pistol if the need ever arose. Though she didn't ever see herself killing a fellow human being anytime soon.

A sharp hissing at the other side of the line brought the young woman back to her senses and she froze completely, trying to make out whatever was being said through the hacked waves of the static.

"-May you repeat your question sir?" The other replied. Just a dilated signal twisting and writhing about in order to form the simple, bitty words she had been so longing to find the voice behind. There wasn't even a single trace of tone within his voice or through the words she could track down back to him. But she still knew who it was in spite of the indefinite source she had been desperate to trace - there wasn't one question about that. Questioning her conclusion would've been a stupid thing to do, and she wasn't wanting to do anything else idiotic in her life; though she honestly bring herself to say that this wouldn't be inevitable - it ran through her blood.

Unknowingly, she was caressing the sides of the radio she had looted from a rundown store near the outskirts of the city some time before with the flesh of her cheek in the faulty hopes that, somehow, she would be able to lure what she really needed this way. Even if she severely doubted this would be the case, she liked to maintain herself in high spirits. It just felt better for her that way. Always had been. It made interrupting the connection between the two officials much less like hard work and more like chasing a desire she was all so desperate to accomplish - which, in reality, was really what she had set herself out to do; even if she told her brother of the opposing morals. Hacking into communications with such a device had been a skill she had learnt to hand from Canir Davies a long time before actually, and one that had been put into good use.

Canir Davies… He had taught her many things. From filtering rain water and cooking anything edible she could find in sight to drawing and cocking a pistol in the blink of an eye and to improvising with everything she had to structure suitable shelters for the long nights she faced frequently (although tonight was a severe exception due to the lack of materials she could get a hold of). She had met him approximately four months before when she had come across the shelter he ran or former convicts down near the city's hidden district, subtly concealed from lurking officials throughout the area underground. Of course, he had known who she had been at first sight, and he had been willing to take the two in to construct their attributes to shape It had been a very nice place actually, providing everything she could have needed with polite hands. In truth, staying there would have been great for her. But it was dangerous for her to remain where she had been, being the person she was - as reminded through Canir's wise words - and carrying the blood she had was an offence to society. Staying nowhere for too long was safe. So this was why she and her brother moved, permanently.

A faint murmur through the static somehow snatched her attention and pulled hard, drawing her back to reality. Her breath catching in her throat as her mind encoded the bitty discrepancies into words. Taking little time but a considerable amount of effort, she eventually managed it.

"-Where-is your station located?"

She wasn't sure whether it had applied to all three of them or whether it'd only been the waves of electrical activity reaching her radio coming off as hazy, but the static went a bit haywire for a few moments, spiralling directly out of control - too ironic in her opinion to be true - and she soon found herself slapping the metal framed device in frustration. The sudden action had caught her brother off guard without question, but his shy whimper had been inaudible. His sister barely noticed this, though she did scald at herself unknowingly before draping her left arm around his shoulders securely.

_'Just work - please?'_

A faint echo through the awakening static made the twenty-one year old exhale a sigh of relief, easing her brother's senses down in unison.

It turned out that the signal reaching through to all lines at this moment had been faulty, because she could tell that her saviour's answer had only been given now.

"Area Seven, District Three -" He braced himself to answer, only to groan inaudibly when the static drifted off course again. When it retained to the normal level, he repeated himself. "Area Seven, District Three, four ports before the end of the rail tracks.

She cursed again and withheld a further sigh. He was one hundred and fifty miles farther away than she had hoped from where she was somewhere in Area Nine. The mere thought of travelling the distance made her groan inwardly. It could take days to get there - weeks maybe, depending on the extent of the patrols throughout the bordering cities. Even she was fully aware of the fact that each and every one of the on-duty officers would take both pleasure and satisfaction out of pumping a bullet into the core of her spine, paralysing her for life - self confidence if the bullet mysteriously ended up penetrating the back of her skull; as expected given the fact that each and every single one of them seemed to be replicas of each other in the newly infested world.

The speaker was no Canir Davies by any means, though he had saved her life when she had been only four days away from a set execution - being a bullet to the heart always as far as she knew. She had been afraid of the odds at that time as well that he had relieved her from - which may have led to be the reason why she had even started falling for him to even begin with, and hard. His eyes had entranced her very soul at first sight, leading her fading hopes away from the shadows of desolation and further into the pits of solemn optimism (even if it had been through the rusty, copper bars of her old four by four cell). Naturally, the joy of overcoming the odds had settled into a feeling she had never felt before meeting his soft, gentle eyes: Attraction. And this feeling of connection simply grew stronger and denser as she began to notice just how unique he was compared to others. He had been unlike them of course, for obvious reasons, and he had been different. Her eventual conclusion had been proven for definite when he slowly came to realize that the prisoner he looked over didn't belong where she had been forcefully locked.

He, of course, had been a Sheriff at Area Five, District Eleven where the main station and the Federal Court (one where the worst and the most serious offenders were sent to face their sentences) were located - places where offenders were branded and criminals were sentenced and held - and had been an officer of the law at the time of her conviction. His location within Area Nine, District Eleven had been, and still is, the most feared area in the country, an area many didn't see themselves coming out of. _Alive_that is…

However though, the Sheriff hadn't been as foul hearted as the others, having a heart of solder rather than one of conjugated iron. And he had been much of a gentleman as well, unlike the others who had disregarded both her feelings and dignity like disposable waste. Even saving her life when she had been so near to falling into the hands of Death. For a moment, it had actually seemed as though he had cared for her when she had been released into custody eighteen months before when she had been little more than nineteen years of age. It had been a right battle for the two of them as well, getting her out and all; especially when she had been found guilty of the most serious of crimes. Remaining a mystery to her that is. Well - in reality, she knew fully well what she had been convicted of, but why it was such a disgrace to reality remained to be a thorough mystery to her.

Not even the hissing static of the radio waves slithering through her ears could draw her away from her thoughts and to reality as she allowed her mind to wander. After being released, she had been forced into something else _deadly_serious that she hadn't wished to partake in; especially not when she had been the only one who could ever meet her younger brother's needs and take his side given his muteness. Eventually, the Sheriff had come to see that even this had been unfair for her as well, and she had definitely spotted his true morals past this; though he had been unable to speak any further out on her behalf given the seriousness of her convicted crime. Maybe it had been his inner principals that had made her feel the way for him she had? She still wasn't sure what it had been, but there had certainly been something about him she had adored, making her want to reach out and embrace it with all of the strength she had left within her and this went without question. He had been kinder than most and generally polite and - well - there wasn't much else that needed to be said. Other than that she had fallen in love with him maybe.

The indefinite word set her thoughts on spur again, soon allowing her to find her mind wandering aimlessly.

Love… It was a very bland word to describe a certain connection an individual might feel towards another, but to the point. Flavourless, but yet toxic. But was the word honestly appropriate for her? Or was she just exaggerating the extent of her desperation? A desperate want to feel secure within the midst of mayhem.

To this day, she still continued to tell herself that she'd feel secure near the Sheriff, though she was aware of the fact that she would wind up getting shot with a revolver if she was spotted by those on patrol - the one's she really should want to avoid. But this was just her being desperate more so than anything else; 'very' desperate. Desperate enough to lead both her and her brother into utter danger if the need should arise. She knew this withheld the possibility of happening of course, which was partially why she grew slightly as the dragging days went on. Need over priority always.

An ear throttling snarl steered her train of thought back onto track and subtle changes in the static waves formed more words for her to decipher.

"-You have patrol guards on duty?"

"Yes sir- I do-" The Sheriff began, only for his voice to veer off course again into the desolation of silence against the winds. She slapped the device again in frustration, hoping that this would urge the information forward in secrecy. She was aware of how the world's economical fall into the pits had inflicted its toll upon everything, with only the richest of the rich living life to its full. This was ultimately why any source of signal was hard to trace down and find. But she still couldn't bring herself to come to terms with it all. The world's technology and resources had been scarcer than ever in recent years, almost dropping back to how it had been almost a century before and the venture towards this route had been running forward along its path since before she had even been conceived. And now it was worse than ever. Even despite this, she often found herself questioning whether life had always been this way, though she knew far better than this.

Sometimes, she honestly can't help but feel partially for the world being in the state it's at; even when she, down inside, knows better than that. It wasn't her fault the world was like this. In truth, she was just apart of the consequence spiralling out of control. A criminal who had once been involved with the wrong hands.

A single drop of her blood left on the ground would become an absolute disgrace to society and she was aware of this. A scent of her detected by a hellhound would be tracked down to its source instantly, and this she knew too; although it was often far more convenient for her to just shove these faulty, deceiving thoughts to the back of her mind where they truly belonged. Force them back and lock the door behind while they still had the energy to exhaust themselves out into a long, welcoming slumber.

Sometimes, she really wished she could find the inner strength to do this…

The rest of the Sheriff's answer slithered its cautious way into her ear through the industrious static until it had pierced her ear drums, leaving her to blink heavily in order to clear her mind.

"-But there's still no sign of her or anyone else trying to come into town unauthorized," The Sheriff stated, his voice shaking through the waves, catching her completely off guard as her eyes widened slightly. Her heart was frozen in place in horrified anticipation, her senses hanging off the edge as she inhaled sharply to keep herself from choking.

**_-Yes-_** She reminded herself **_-It had been that serious-_**

There was a brief pause. But the twenty-one year old hadn't been sure whether it had been the static playing up or-something else…

"You sure?"

"Yes sir." He answered briefly before adding. "But I still don't know why the G.E is as thorough with the search for her as they are. It's been fifteen months now and nothing else has been heard in six. Odds are she's dead… Either by disease or malnourishment. There are more important aspects to focus on."

Unknowingly, she let out a small out a small sigh of relief, his wise words pulling off the effect she had yearned for. His words always seemed pure, refreshing and comforting and it had always seemed like this for her; even 'if' she didn't want to admit it…

To no avail, she tried to urge the memory aside -

_"It's not fair!" The troubled nineteen-year-old coursed through the burrows of her raspy lungs, her voice like contagious venom. "How can you let them do this to us?"_

_Naturally, the Sheriff was shocked. He couldn't really understand the true morals behind her motives, and neither did they make sense, but could detect them quite easily; only to leave him considerably quite confused. Orders had been followed and good deeds had been done. So exactly why was she upset? His state of obliviousness seemed to draw the only thin line between dividing logic from instinct and, as he knew, allowing an instinct to lead oneself can sometimes be quite lethal._

_As clear in his world, logic overruled nature always. So a firm voice encrypted within the very back of his mind told him as much as he needed to know. A 'very' convincing voice._

_"Well I do apologize if this ain't your apple in the hatch Miss Jane." The Sheriff, older than her by at least two or three years, responded. It only came as expected for him to receive a glare due to his words, but his own tone was mutual. "But there's no way around it with your stupid schemes this time. It has to be done. There simply is no other way around it."_

_The shock settled in, and she soon found herself unable to even remember where she was. She was somewhere cold though - that was obvious enough. The cold air scratching her exposed flesh made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the words sunk into her skin, and deeply, imploding in on themselves in rushing torrents of despair and aching venom. Her shattered heart sent a knock-on effect coursing through her body, curling her fingers into fists and narrowing her shocked gape into a deathly glare. The toxins running through her veins boiled into heated anger as her tolerance veered off edge._

_"Then why aren't 'you' helping us?" She demanded irrationally, tossing the verbal grenade that shouldn't dare be unclipped, striking his core like a toxic dagger. Her common sense no longer was apparent as her noxious voice sunk into bland nectar. Nothing dared to make sense to her, and this messed with her mind. Even the crisp desolation of the area around her seemed artificial, making her feel empty inside. Or was empty too simple a word to match the feeling that really overrode her senses? It didn't seem dense enough to fill the hole within her that had been ripped out of her by forces 'much' stronger than herself._

_His own glare narrowed into a half-hearted gaze riddled with detest towards ignorance. Something he had never felt before became alit in a sudden flare of exasperation, overpowering his core. And the warmth within his entrancing eyes suddenly vanished, instead being replaced with ice. His logic seemed to demolish whatever sense his heart usually gave off as fondness snapped into loathe._

_His answer though, surprising her slightly, didn't dare compare with his look._

_"You know why this is Jessica." He stated firmly, his voice distant but firm. "Besides," He added, his synthetic colours unravelling throughout his tone. "It ain't my job to sort through the shit you landed yourself into."_

_His answer failed to catch her glare off guard, but he ceased to recognize the way her heart sank in place. Or did it shatter to an even further degree? Jessica was way too stunned to tell the difference. But her next words did as her icy glare was set alight in perishing flames._

_"You faggot." She found herself countering huskily, her voice low but lethal. She could tell that a sense of desolation had been etched finely into each and every one of her words, but she could honestly care less about bringing this into consideration as she felt the cold air of the night taunt her skin menacingly, settling her distraught nerves on edge. "You absolute piss-take." Her words were firm this time around but far off, even for her._

_**-Odd-** She soon thought. **-But true-**_

_Her eyes drifted shut as she felt the awful sensations sink into her core. Anger. Bewilderment. Disbelief. Grief. Heartbreak… All rolled into one; making her next words as harsh and as irrational as ever._

_"Just 'stay' away from us." She uttered sternly, before desperation finally added: "I hate you."_

She shook her head, tearing herself away from the memory that continued to haunt her before it would send her down Memory Lane when she felt her brother's clasp on her tighten in anticipation for the stranger's reply.

"Your point can be seen Sheriff. But risks always overcome priorities. Or so according to the G.E. You never know when the enemy's right around your corner. S-speaking of which-is everything running correctly in your area?"

Jessica almost shuddered at the second mention of their name. The General Escorts. A name most appropriate to brand the way they led their determined and their weakened to their deaths, even their own trusted men at times as well. Anything to bind their suspicions to the rotten wall. Running away from them was most difficult, but not impossible in the least; as had been proven in her case -

"I take your point sir… Everything's running fine. Although some of the inmates are more restless than usual. Other than that, the people of the town are civilised."

"What about t-the Dead Ends?"

Jessica Jane felt her senses sharpen at the mention of this repulsive term. It was a term to brand those on the Execution Lines. A 'fine' way to discriminate those about to lose their lives for committing crimes once seen as petty. She didn't reckon there would be many of them in his area, because it had been made obvious that the Sheriff had moved out of Area Five a long time before, and prisoners were only ever sent out of the main area if they couldn't hold anymore convicts. Though this did occur quite frequently, she doubted they'd send many Dead Ends to other areas. She had been once of those so called 'Dead Ends' earlier on, but she had been lucky. Most didn't survive long after being branded alive by such a term. But now she suspected that the G.E will by this point consider her as a Dead End on the run. She shuddered again at the thought and shook her head.

Jessica didn't notice this, but the Sheriff had paused briefly; his own thoughts threatening to contradict. In all honestly, she was slightly surprised that the signal hadn't broken off in a while more so than anything else. It did seem somewhat ironic if she could say so herself. Nevertheless though, she didn't question why this was so as she patiently, but cautiously, waited for the Sheriff to answer. Her thoughts clashing in with her memories in a ferocious battle as the term 'Dead End' settled forcefully into the core of her mind.

_She had heard of it happening many times before: The gunshot tearing vigorously through the silent winds; one's last cry before the piercing of their heart overrode the body's senses, shutting it down completely - some dignified, some half-hearted pleas of mercy, a fair few pain-riddled grunts, others sharp howls of pain ripping out and through the victim's and the rest (a 'very' scarce amount) - well - they faded away into the undergrowth of reality in silence. The erupting cheers from the narrow-minded civilians who could no longer foresee the absolute torture inflicted upon the prisoners on a daily basis could always be heard from bystanders and, sometimes, even the victims last words would encrypt themselves into the back of her mind, haunting her indefinitely. Most of them beginning with a simple 'I'm' and ending sorrowfully with a 'Sorry'. It was no surprise that it did haunt her actually, since the Execution Court could be seen through her small cell window._

_Most of the prisoners slaughtered in the courts were only guilty of crimes which had once been seen as explanatory; like robbing a rarely found bank to keep their families alive when desperation took its toll or for killing a man who had committed far worse crimes, such as for tolerating slavery or for beating their waves mercilessly for instance. Some men even managed to extend their morals to (on occasion) finding multiple cases of rape plausible. And most got away with the offence with no more than a lifted eyebrow in the Modern Day's world._

_Jessica Jane had come to learn just how severe petty crimes had become. A hint of doubt upon one's motives could be deadly. Holding the wrong blood could be disgraceful and leading the General Escorts on to a faulty scent is most definitely lethal. She hadn't been guilty of every single one of the following crimes listed previously, unravelling in some right before her very eyes, but she had come to hand with the consequences in person. There was no denying this; especially when she was reminded of such a thing every time she heard a gun shot echoing through the courts - like how she did just now for instance._

_Nothing could overpower the fear creeping towards her nerves when the simple bullet of the magnum she had grown ever so familiar with during the course of her imprisonment pierced the chest of its next victim, landing pitifully within the heart and banishing all traces of life completely with a single touch, the lurching snarl of the gunshot racing through the night like revolving winds and overriding the ghastly presence of unnatural silence like contaminated toxins. This one had lost his life in silence - or had it been a poor woman this time? Jessica ha grown out of the habit of looking through her cell window during the times of executions, because she would only ever be left traumatized by the scalding images and the lurking recollections of such events; so it had become almost impossible for her to tell the difference between the genders when they went away so quietly._

_She hugged herself as she backed herself against the cold wall of her prison cell, feeling the damp moisture perched deeply within the grains of the surface soak the shirt she wore - she couldn't even tell what colour it had once been now, because of the dirt and the dust that would embed itself into the material like the nectar of Satan encrypting itself within the body of a selected individual._

_Desolation crested within her, and she felt alone. More so now than she had before after hearing the happenings of a human being losing their life within the hands of unearthly superiors. The feeling of emptiness had grown stronger in recent months, as they had taken her brother away from company in her cell with her being so close to her day of execution. Two hundred and thirty months and nine days old was the minimum age one had to be for an execution to take place - Nineteen years, two months and nine days in a simplified form. As far as Jessica Jane knew, she was approximately eighteen years and eleven months of age. But in truth though, she honestly couldn't remember, the days only morphed together where she was; what she thought had happened yesterday may have happened last week for all she knew. However, she knew 'they' were counting down. They always were…_

_With her being so close to execution, they took her brother away for a certain reason she couldn't bring herself to understand. They believed having her in the company of someone would make her stronger when her day arrived and more resistant to superior forces and in no way did they want this. In reality, though they wouldn't dare tell her this, they wanted her to beg for mercy when eye and eye with her executioner…_

_Just as they did with everyone -_

Jessica shook her head, the horror of her days locked in a cell catching up to her as the nerves in her body began to shake with such intensity that her heart thundered in her chest. This caught her dark haired, dark-eyed brother in shock as he lifted his gaze from the device to eye her cautiously, worry etched throughout his expression; wanting to reassure her with words that would never be spoken.

In no way could he remember his real, true name he had been given from birth, but Jessie could. Though she called him no such thing given the fact that it had never matched his outgrown personality, but in no way could she remember why and what she had derived his nickname from; since her recollection of the times before being caught in this hell of a mess were hazy and distant. Urging forward yet another hole in her heart (one that could never be replaced) she was reminded of as she held him close to her chest. Sometimes though, it did help settle her nerves when she reminded herself of why the name 'Bullseye' suited her brother better than a name as bland as 'Harold'.

She shook her head again to clear her thoughts. This wouldn't help her during a time like this and she knew it fully well. If anything, it would distract her from the task that really mattered, and she didn't think she'd ever forgive herself if she somehow messed it up.

The Sheriff's answer caught her somewhat off guard.

"They've been dealt with well sir…" He said huskily, sinking Jessie's heart into the pits as her senses froze again.

Shaking her head, she unknowingly gasped: "No."

The pause was made apparent this time round and, for the first time; Jessie came to the realization that by hacking into their line, she actually joined the conversation through the small microphone piece connected to the side of her stolen device. 'That', she had not thought of.

"Sheriff?" The stranger asked wearily, unsure of whether he had heard the interruption in the static correctly. "Is this line secure?"

At the other end of the line, the Sheriff known as Woodrow Pride scanned his equipment for the source of the faulty connection - this wouldn't be the first time their line had conjoined with another's - and spotted the extra activity on the dilated signal for the first time through means Jessica had been completely unfamiliar with. And his mouth dropped agape.

"Dang nabbit." He cursed audibly. He could spot the extra activity on his line through a device which suppressed any other means of communications with its means security, but it came from 'one' device in Area Nine, District Six; 'one hundred and fifty' miles away from where he was currently located. "We have a hacker. Close all communications."

"Shit." Jessie found herself cursing as the line went stark dead and planted the device on the ground below, proving to be extremely difficult for her given her faulty nerves. How did she always manage to screw things up the way she did?

She groaned heavily and dragged her damaged hand down her face in half-hearted frustration. She just had to make yet another device useless to her.

Kicking the device aside, she met her brother's questioning gaze and sighed.

This night was going to be longer than she had originally presumed.


	3. The Questioning Silence of the Night

**_Chapter Two_**

Jessie sighed heavily and slowly drew her knees to her chest unknowingly. Wrapping her faulty arm around her brother to complete the close and firm embrace, she inhaled deeply and held Bullseye to her chest. A sense of unenthusiastic desolation began to wash over her nerves and Jessie suddenly found a part of herself feeling sorry for the both of them.

After a few moments of uneasy silence, she found herself speaking up.

"Well," She began briefly, trying to trace the core of her brother's half-hearted depression she knew would be lurking through him in the attempt to yank it away from his body with force - the way she had really wanted to pull the scarred pieces of his soul in order to replace them with fresh pieces of himself for so long. "You heard where he said he was. So now all we have to do is find his town."

An uneasy feeling washed over the contents in the pit of her stomach, and she soon found herself being reminded of the fact that she never would have uttered what she was keeping back from him now in the fear of unnerving her shy brother, but she silently added: **_-And get there first…-_**

Trying to force her heart to steady, she came to realize that the fates had offered her a small pot full of fortune at this moment for the first time in the while, and the vicious winds of the night eventually settled down into the flushing of a faint drizzle she had been able to bring her senses to overcome. Briefly, her thoughts trailed towards the water bucket she had recently knocked over, she considered picking up the worn container to allow it to collect the rain water the spitting heavens sent down for them; but soon pushed the idea aside when she felt her brother shuffle in her arms. Upon a natural instinct, she closed them around him tighter and held his head against her shoulder. Hoping that this simple action would be enough to settle his uneasiness down, she had been left surprised when he pulled away and gazed at her with those questioning eyes she had come close to dreading; the look riddled with half-hearted contempt and confusion - one Jessie had been able to read perfectly. One that pleaded her to give him the exact answer she had been hoping to hide back.

She took one glimpse of these eyes, and felt her heart sink. Drawing a sharp breath to steady her inept anxiousness, she blew it out heavily in defeat.

"I'm not sure how long it'd take boy." She stated briefly. Her answer had been true though; she honestly didn't know how long the trip to get to his town would be; nor did she really want to know. But this was one fact she had wanted to conceal from him, for reasons aligning the obvious. All she knew about it was that it would take a _long_ while. Maybe even varying from days to weeks depending on the severity of the patrollers on duty.

Something within her kept her from looking away as she watched Bullseye's gaze falter, and she found herself frowning in defeat. For as long as she could remember with him being in her life, he had never been able to stammer a single word and was far too traumatized now to even make an attempt, which made Jessie feel far more unnerved now when glancing at him. So he had always been mute. Never able to speak his mind or even able to request some needed values aloud, which had also pained his sister when they had been imprisoned for explanatory crimes without parents - more so than he knew actually, but Jessie wouldn't dare bring herself to mention this. Whatever he didn't know wouldn't hurt him after all, she had always told herself.

Nevertheless, she had always been able to read his expression like remember the complexity of the back of her hand, and the need to do this had become necessary a few years back when only she had been able to care for his needs being the young, scarred boy he had been - the boy he still was in many ways; the boy with the inability to speak out for himself who could only be heard by one person other than his own being.

His dysfunction hadn't been entirely pleasant for either Bullseye or his sister over the years, but it hadn't been either this or his abnormal silence that sent Jessie tumbling straight into the inaudible pits of dismay at this moment in time. Especially when words were overriding the eerie silence. Instead, it had been the words etched right within his defiant eyes that allowed her heart to falter. A child's innocent question, but the look that gave her nightmares whenever she slept on the rare occasion.

The toxic ache - sharp but smouldering - tugging fiercely at her heart, she had been able to ignore. But she couldn't hold back the urge to blow out a long, uninterrupted sigh. She never had liked lying to her brother, because he deserved the truth - he really did. But sometimes keeping the truth unaltered would sometimes simply be too much for her to utter aloud, especially when catching a glimpse of his expression afterwards. Watching him like that would always leave behind a small pain to ache her soul, vibrating against her core hoarsely. This simply would be too much for her sometimes; the pain could almost lead to be unbearable…

The sigh she blew out faltered into a weak breath of half-hearted exasperation, and she closed her eyes briefly, trying to steady the aching sensation coursing through her nerves. He'd find out soon enough anyway, she told herself. He wasn't a stupid child by any means, far from that actually. In secrecy, she would've been surprised if it had turned out that he hadn't deciphered her expression already.

After spending time considering whether or not she should really admit the truth to him, she came to the decision that telling him now was definitely better than having him find out later; though setting his hopes down was definitely something she wanted to prolong.

"I'm not quite sure how long it'd take to get there boy - I honestly don't." She began to mutter uselessly, suddenly beginning to feel very on-edge. "But it'll take a while. Maybe a few weeks at the most." She watched her brother's eyes drop slightly, and she began to realize just truly exhausted he must be and felt her heart clench outwardly. She paused, wondering whether or not what she was about to say next would be appropriate, but eventually decided otherwise. He's probably aware of it already, she told herself again in the hopes of settling her anxious nerves; though she didn't see how this would work. "And it may take a while to find the routes around with all the patrollers on duty."

His given reaction had aligned the reaction Jessie had expected, his face falling to the ground with a glum expression etched all across his features. But what she didn't expect though was to have him look up through his eyelashes, his face reminding her of the sad horse she had seen all those many years ago in the picture book her mother had shown her at a very young age, and she suddenly found her own expression falling into the pits as well. The memory to her seemed very eerie and distant, almost as though she was collecting the images pasted in her mind from old and shadowed dreams she could remember very little of by the time she had awoken from them to face the depriving Earth around her. The old picture book she had read had showed the humans of the horses ranch rolling on through life and making their mistakes without a single care in the world whilst the horse was left to face the prolonging consequences of their actions; such as not having clean water to drink when the humans forget to filter it of all the contaminating contents that could potentially sicken the horse, or not having safe land to roam through when the humans forget to close the gates and lead the horse to the shelters, allowing the wolves of the night to taunt the horses as they tried to sleep. The story of the sad horse, in her perspective, somehow gave off a representation of the mass chaos the world was currently facing today due to the hungry people of the world wanting to execute their vengeance upon those who had unconsciously made the mistakes, even if the ones on spot knew and were sorry for what they had done. However though, in the world's situation, the one's who made the mistakes weren't guilty of making the mistakes that led to the mad distribution of payback and revenge the world had been thriving for by the time the General Escorts made themselves apparent. Instead, the payback had inflicted the damage upon the Economy and not the old Government as everyone wanted to believe. During times the world had faced, it was only reassuring to have someone to point the finger at. Those to blame when troublesome times were faced.

Little by little, more of the story came back into her mind, running along the perimeters in fresh torrents of mesmerizing activity and memory. Blinking out the rest of the world for just that second and allowing her to become lost in one of the magnificent tales of her flourishing childhood she wished she could go back too.

The tale had definitely been a sad one; one that inflicted a great deal of impact upon her inner emotions at the age she had read it. What - she must have been at least five or six when she had read it? Her conscience sympathising with the poor horse unconsciously, as though a part of her soul had connected with it without her realizing; the one part which reached out to the rest of the world in mad streams of energy and combustion she had once found peculiarly amusing. The horse had been bought by, who she had presumed to be, a greedy individual who had a tendency to take pleasure and joy out of hunting down animals and removing some of their body parts to take home as souvenirs. Rusty the Hunter his name had been, but he had no desire in cutting the horse he had bought into pieces for satisfaction during the story - well, Jessica had presumed that was something he had wanted to do later instead; but this didn't settle her as her mother read her the story in the slightest -instead, he had bought the horse with the intentions on using the horse to guide him through the dense woods surrounding his little shack outside of town in order to catch the lurking prey in the most vicious ways possible.

The horse had tried to refuse giving his vile owner guidance through the woods, but his attempt of acting defiantly towards Rusty's intentions always failed, resulting in a nasty whip with the whiplash Rusty had made out of Cows leather every time. In defeat, the horse was always left giving the dying prey Rusty struck down one last sad look before turning his head away, unable to stand anymore of the contempt he felt lurking inside.

And housing conditions for the horse hadn't been any different either. The little, if any water, he had left in the wooden crate standing within the rotten field he had been perched in would always be flooding with dead insects and floating dirt and, to state the obvious, the electric fences bordering the perimeters of the field were always turned on, leaving no chance for him to escape behind. To make matters worse, a small hole had been cut into the fence that was far too small for the horse to creep through, but big enough for taunting carnivores to crawl through; this had handed the horse no other option than to sleep with one eye painfully wide open.

From what Jessie could remember, the horse had lived a miserable life in the end and the story had only given its readers one lesson to learn from it. And this had been the obvious: Other life forms, even animals, will suffer from your chosen paths, decisions and mistakes in life. But the story in itself had been plotted out in a rather disturbing way which had once kept Jessie up for nights on end with eyes widened in horror. It almost made her feel as though she could have been there for the horse when his owner went out of hand, maybe even willing to do something to dissect all of the bad elements out and away from the Hunter's soul. Take the place of a Shaman for once maybe and simply eradicate all bad sources of life from the bad man in the story. Obliterating the Spirits of the night away from the evil character in the story was one thing she had really wanted to do actually; something she wanted to do for all of the bad people perched right within the rocky line of her life. The way she had always wanted to do.

In a half hearted attempt to clear her own troubling spirits away from her soul as her brother waited for her to think of an answer to the question his face portrayed, she chuckled inwardly. Giving the state of the current world around her, she guessed that she had been one of the few rare people her age who actually knew that Shamanistic beliefs had once existed. To some degree though, this was no surprise as her Mother had been one of those so called Nature Bearers - as Jessie had preferred to brand it - studying the various Tribes from the past which had been scattered throughout the borders of the whole world and the old layout of the magnificent sources of vegetation that had once been scattered all about the whole world as well as the decreasing area of the Amazon which she had secretly hoped would still house a few of the Tribes that had chosen to settle there all of those centuries before.

Jessica had spent her childhood unaware of the atrocities that had been taking place right before her very life as the world began to slip even further into the slippery void it could take forever to escape from, and had instead grew up along the southern borderlines of the country: Far away enough from Area Fifteen for her parents to escape their troubles, but close enough to the perimeter for her parents to be reminded of what they were fleeing from day after day. Being housed in a settlement perched within the midst of the countryside, it really was no surprise she had taken a few of her Mother's interests as a few of her own. She too had shared the wish of allowing her inner spirit to flourish within the crystal-light of Nature's awe-inspiring magnificence that beheld the essence of her very soul within its firm and gentle grip, refusing to let go until she had made the best out of every chance she had.

One of the shared interests between the Mother and Daughter had been the studies of Shamanism. Upon a natural instinct, Jessie had been purely fascinated by the ways of Shamans and the followers of such crafts when her Mother had first, in brief, tried to explain to her what the term 'Shaman' meant. It had taken her a while to understand the role a Shaman had played for the world, but she had eventually come to understand just what they did and how they did it. In reality, however, there was still far much more she could learn. But she had had forever since had the very brief facts implanted into her mind, even if most of them did contribute for different Tribes had once roamed through the World's breathtaking settlements.

From what Jessie had learned, Shamans of the Day would be called to the needs of a sick patients burdened with either illness or the malevolent spirit's the Shamans of the Night had called to plague its victim in attempt to cure the corrupt elements of one's soul. To do this, a Shaman of the Day would cleanse its patients soul by calling for the aid of a Spirit Guide to help energize the Shaman and lead them through into Spiritual World where the Healer would be able to track down the lost pieces of the patient's inner soul and retrieve them to restore the ill being back to full health. If the Shaman of the Day had intended to eradicate any of the immoral elements of one's soul, then the Shaman would act as a Mediator to settle any unsolved issues between the Community and even (on occasion) the spirits of the deceased. So, as coming as only expected, Jessie had been fascinated by these processes for as long as she could remember; almost as though she had been connected with the spirituality behind it all through one way or another without her even coming to realize.

When she eventually realized that her thoughts had been steering away from the designated path, she shook her head and lowered her gaze to her younger brother when an odd thought struck her.

The name of the horse in the book - that's where she had tracked her brother's nickname from! With her eyebrows arching, she told herself that she must have seen his face one day and realized that he had looked similar to the horse in the book when in a sulk.

She shook her head again, scalding at herself inwardly for her lack of focus yet again and forced her gaze over towards her brother, where her senses caved in on themselves before the question his eyes asked her now; the question she had wanted to avoid answering at all costs -

The one question that'd have her pouring her heart out in gushes of intimate admittances and senses of partial Unrequited Love if she'd ever bring herself to answer it properly.

She groaned inwardly, thinking long and hard before bringing herself to answer his question in the most reasonable way possible without the need to make the hidden facts obvious to the naked eyes through her expression.

()()()()

A sense of disbelief began to kick into the Sheriff almost as soon as the line went dead and the eerie sensation began coursing its way through his nerves endlessly as he hooked the radio communications device on its rack. His movements were slow but cautious as his inspective gaze faltered slightly.

The shock of the conversation's conclusion settled down into his system uneasily and he suddenly found himself unable to do anything more than arch his eyebrows to the appealing heavens in bewilderment. The officers stationed along the borderlines of the country called him weekly to ensure that things were running correctly in his area and district, as he believed they did so with all of the other Sheriffs in the different Areas. In the country, there were fourteen Areas in total - dividing the length of the country into fourteen different sections (in which a handful or so Sheriff's would be located in each) and each of these areas were divided into twelve districts running in alignment with the width of the country. So, as natural, he only expected the other Sheriff's to receive the exact same check-ups on a weekly basis as well. Not that he minded them though, since it always helped to reassure himself that he was never the only one tying criminals to their bounds.

Of course though, to state the obvious, not all conversations were hacked in the way theirs had just been, and this was what set his train of thoughts on course - and at a quicker pace than he had actually come to predict.

Today had been one of the first times Officer Paul Marines had spoken about the Dead Ends to the Sheriff in conversation, but Woodrow was aware of the fact that this was most likely due to the fact that he had never been assigned to look over them in the area he was currently located; so it had seemed strange several weeks before when The Unearthly individuals - or so he had been forcefully convinced - had been sent down to his station from Area Five due to the provoking issues caused by the over packed prison in the Area's main District. There of course, they faced their sentences: Usually beginning with imprisonment, but 'always' ending in Death.

The term 'Dead End' set the train on spur again, and he soon found himself lost within the depths of his own thoughts; all ranging from the simplest matters of the case he could think of to those that kept him awake at night. A ferocious battle between the small, plentiful issues and the provoking aspects of life he couldn't have altered in other words. The contradiction would look fairly simple to a bystander but his mind was reeling endlessly.

He had once known a Dead End, and he had exceeded all of his carefully set expectations in every way possible. He had been only nineteen years of age when he had first caught sight of the sixteen year old locked behind the bars - the minimum age for a child to be classed as an adult - and she had been a heck of a sight in his opinion. With succulent copper hair the colour of scarlet liveliness and glassy eyes the colour of emerald gemstones that could turn a man around on his heels with a single glance, but still holding the pouting face of a scarred child she could no longer become. But something about her appearance had told him that she hadn't as yet grown out of the scars that had been cut into her soul with rusty knives, leaving the cuts bare and unprotected against infection where the pain will seize the power and energy to simply ache. Not enough to puncture sharp pains within her system, but enough to destroy her bit by bit as time went on. And she had been locked in 'that' cell.

Many people on the outside had known what happened to Dead Ends at the time where they meet 'their' end, and Woodrow Pride had grown up knowing fully well what happened to the worst of the bad. Especially when Woodrow had once had a father who had been a G.E member himself - not one of the major one's who had made the decisions concerning the Country's failing economy and taxes, as well as manual labour and the laws the public should follow, but being one who oversaw crime and punishment instead. Suiting the punishments to the severity of the committed crimes mostly before eventually retiring to settle into a position as a Sheriff in Area Five, but in no way had this been the limit. Raymond Pride had been his name-a man who had died six years before this day when shot stark dead between his eyes by an un-cultured tribe ran by one of the Seven Long Runs the General Escorts had been desperate to hunt down and slaughter. Now there were six…

After his father's Death, Woodrow Pride had been left grief-stricken. Twenty years before this day, Ten Long Runs had still been on the run and by the time the shock of losing his father had implanted itself into his core, there had been six. And the six of those men - the last of 'them' presumably responsible for the world's sudden economic drop back during the earlier times of the twenty-first century - had been branded Dead Ends on the run before the time of Raymond Pride's death. And so the individuals of which formed a state of power equivalent to the government had placed bounties on their heads, making it a simple case of either bringing the last six men into the line of vision of the G.E either dead or alive. Most in the country had no idea of where any of these six men could be located, but all who knew of their names knew they were wanted Dead Ends - that they'd most likely be shot at first sight if recognized by armed individuals. Needless to say, Dead Ends almost always had no chance of surviving after being branded, and the Long Runs (members of the former government who had allowed the Economy to slip in such the way it had) had no chance at all.

Woodrow Pride had known a Dead End for sure, though she hadn't been a Long Run in any standards. A simple look at her and one could scrap the theory within a few seconds, as well as the fact that, even though her soul had been scarred, an unnatural vibrancy had shown from her not often found shining from individuals in her position; not so far away from life but so close to losing it that is. His first impression of her had been indefinite, but most certainly powerful, making his mind reel in directions unfamiliar to him as his eyes gawked at the mere sight of her. How old must she had been then? Seventeen? Sixteen? He had known better than to ask, but the question was one he had often pondered over.

She had been old enough to be a mother - _that_had been clear enough for sure - but he hadn't reckoned that the child she had been cradling close to her had been hers. The G.E would usually never allow a Dead End to hold their child and if it'd been a child of the criminal's relation they had been weary about, then they'd lock the child in the cell with them. Woodrow arched his eyes at the thought. From his time looking over her cell, he had come to learn that the child had been her brother and not her child after all. But the child never seemed potentially dangerous. Instead, he had seemed just as withdrawn as his sister, his eyes grim like rotten wood. On all behalf, the Sheriff had the right to classify the younger individual as a poor kid. Never speaking a word, even when spoken to. He'd open his mouth, lips quivering with eyes speculating the dead matters aimlessly, and his lips would simply quiver. But nothing ever came out. Not a simple word.

When she'd often glance up to the Sheriff at his desk through denying bars, he'd see that the natural effervescence often found within her eyes had turned as dispirited as misty glass, and his heart often clenched inwardly at the sight. It had been obvious from the start that she would have done anything to keep her brother safe - even willing to sacrifice her own life to ensure his safety it so seemed - and it made him feel curious at times. He had never been told why she had been sentenced, but he had known from the start that she had been a Dead End waiting unwillingly for the time she could be legally executed. But it hadn't seemed as though she had been guilty of any of the foul crimes that led others to be in her position and it almost seemed as if she hadn't actually been old enough at the time of her imprisonment to understand the seriousness of what she had done; though he severely doubted this was the case. One glance at her misty eyes and one would be able to tell that she knew. And even through all of the haunting knowledge and the way she cared for her brother the way she did, she had been in 'that' cell.

Woodrow shook his head, dragging a hand down his face when he felt the urge to groan creep up on him.

She was really what the call had been about. And he could utter this aloud to himself any moment without the need to question the conclusion.

Saving her life had almost proved to be impossible, but he had managed it somehow through convincing words. It had surprised the Sheriff that he had done so actually, because Dead Ends were almost never let off their hatch after being branded and a part of him had been convinced that he would have never been able to set her free from the cell she had been forcefully trapped within. Along with the wary section of him, remained another part of him that had wanted to do anything and everything to ensure she never met the deadly mouth of the Magnum he had heard the firing of many times in his position. The way her eyes would writhe when the piercing sound echoed through her mind had often left him feeling unsettled; the way she had tried to hide how afraid she had been as the day to her time neared had left him feeling contempt and irrational inside.

The rest of him though, had believed from the start that the girl locked behind the cell bars had really been something more than how she had appeared. A natural vibrancy of spirit and inner strength not often found within Dead Ends with a set time of Death lingering over their shoulders, with eyes flickering from misty glass to the dazzling crystal emeralds continuously that could freeze a man in his place one second, and set him on fire the next.

Jessica Jane her name had been, and she had been set to be one of the youngest Dead Ends to lose their life to the hands of the General Escorts; the corrupting force that had grown in power over the previous decades after promising the massive turn around in the economy they had never delivered, instead leading the country down a steep slope it may take decades to lift itself away from. But the odds had been overlooked for this single individual, and she had escaped with her life; though not with her freedom as Woodrow Pride had previously hoped.

After being released with her life intact, she had soon come to realize that her freedom hadn't been promised, or even rewarded, as she had been forced into something far more hazardous than she had even brought herself to expect. And this had been a form of manual labour which she knew was bound to only lead to a few places in the end - and these places were all dangerous in themselves. Maybe even lethal for both her and her brother if things had turned out bad enough. From what the Sheriff had found out about the work she had been forced into, it had almost been as bad as being an executioner itself; only a whole lot more religiously incorrect than execution. And, from what he had heard, she had loathed the work she had no choice other than to face to pieces. Even though he hadn't known what the job had required slightly, he knew it must have been treacherous work - Jane's stories had told him exactly that.

Which may have been the reason why the last time they had met had been on unfriendly terms…?

Coming to the realization that his thoughts were spiralling away from focus again, Woodrow tried to focus his concentration on the call he had just received from the country's perimeters. That was the second call he had received this month, and the fifteenth he had received this year to be exact, but he didn't think he had been on the other line of a call like that before.

Not that his radio calls hadn't been hacked before, because they have. But there had been information and evidence in this call he had never been given during previous ones. Dead Ends were almost never spoken about between individuals unless in person - although surely all most know about them outside the cell walls - and the mention of the patrollers gave the Sheriff the hunch that the General Escorts were as determined to find the wanted Dead End as they had been fifteen months before. Though it had been obvious to him from the start that, for whatever crime she had been found guilty of, the hunt for her was still as vigorous as ever to capture the faulty blood they believed had belonged to her. Both the Sheriff and Jessica Jane herself knew that a single spillage of her blood upon the altered World's land was a contamination to society and, despite the hard feelings between them, Woodrow Pride still felt as though she needed help out there with her brother (wherever they may be) when they were out there on their own. Especially when he knew that those darn disgraces of Mankind would take pleasure out of pumping a bullet of a Revolver into her back without hesitantly if she had been found within their line of vision.

Even if he had no idea of where she had been previously located, there was no doubt in his mind that she had been the hacker of that previous call. The hints given to him had been clue enough; the mention of the finished Dead Ends and the gasp over the line he had been able to make out as a 'no' acted as the mandatory evidence in this case.

Standing up from where he had been sat by the aged control panel before him in the small, bare room he was located, he thought for a moment; wondering why she would do such a thing exactly. She had been the stubborn one - no doubt about that - but she was never the one to go out of her way to pull off something like this, otherwise she would have pulled out an possible way to escape the work she had been forced into a year and a half before from the back of her head before she actually had. Well, of course if the G.E or anyone else had noticed that he had taken his part in her escape behind their backs, then he himself would be branded a Dead End without a second thought to be made. But, this had also been on hard feelings; ones possibly full of loathe and disgust.

He shook his head and told himself to focus on the important matter. Most likely, he'd eventually let the matter pass without bringing it up to anyone else that could possibly track her down and get her killed. Why on Earth would she bring herself to hack into something the way she did? And, what confused him the most, how did she?

A faint silence hummed through the air around him as he pondered on those two thoughts, and he found himself unconsciously lost in a trance. After some time of trying to sort through his jumbled mass of irritating thoughts, he came to a possible conclusion that Jane was still probably on the run with her younger brother, and had hacked into the communications by the means of one way or another in order to find out where the Patrollers were stationed.

**_-Well-_** He eventually told himself **_-She must've come across them by now-_**

As to how she had managed to do so remained a slight mystery to him. Unless she had called for the aid of one of the Long Run's to help her out, but he honestly couldn't see her doing something as stupid as this. She sure as hell knew how dangerous it was to be round one of those six individuals (most of them being the members of the Old Government that had taken part in achieving the unlawful blame as well as several other individuals who had been centred within irrational conspiracies and conclusions); so there was no way she'd do something as stupid as that. And he knew to hand that her Father had died before she had been imprisoned, so he didn't reckon that it had been a family member of hers.

Pondering for a while longer, he eventually realized that he was going nowhere with this.

Groaning, he dragged a hand down his face before deciding to check on the prisoners to keep the safe aspects he came across safe. Though he severely doubted that anything had changed. All the while, however, he had been thinking:

_'I seriously hope she ain't getting herself caught in anything she can't get herself out of…'_


	4. The Following Light of the Dark

A gust of icy wind blew her hair aside in the alleyway she and her brother had settled down for the night, and the area around them suddenly felt enlivened with ambitious activity. Giving off the impression that the doorway to another world hung within the deceiving shadows of the masking darkness cowering shamelessly at the corners of their eyes as Jessica's thoughts drifted off into the eerie distance.

By all means she knew what her answer to her brother's question would be, and there was no denying this in the slightest as an unperceivable concept drew her mind away from reality and into an ill-mannered trance. And, to be frank, Bullseye knew that Jessie's next answer would be one derived from the twisted truth she had made her way around in order to set his anxiousness aside. But he didn't feel comforted at all. Not now anyway. Not when he knew that his sister had an explanation to back up her next 'Bend of the Truth'. To be fair, all it did was set him on edge, perched right before the gaping hole that led down to an even wider pit of misfortune - with no landing in sight.

The icy wind had chilled his bones too, and he soon found himself shaking off the chills lurking throughout the small mass of his form in order to steer his train of thought back to the rusty track. The feeling was in no way foreign to him, as he had spent many hours of many days just simply, gazing off into the distance… As he usually would whenever his senses became a vast entanglement of the many thoughts that would often crash together inside his head, leaving him both confused and unable to detect the differences between one matter in life from another. Why the world seemed to want to do bad things to the two of them was one of them and would often forcefully collide into another thought just to feel the satisfaction of teasing him in all the unnecessary ways, but in no way protruding. Why this was happening to both himself and his sister was another contradicting thought that just loved to keep him up at night during the times he can't bring himself to sleep. This one, however, most definitely stood out from the rest. But in no way were these thoughts limited. Sometimes, he could go through twenty-four hours without even trying to communicate to the one he cared for the most and, of course, Jessie had never been blind to this. But, as a troubled individual herself, she knew better than to bring this up.

Jessie had never known the full extent to Bullseye's withdrawal, but she had always known what could be read from his expression when his conscience has been submerged within the intoxicating depths of his own thoughts that could no longer be overpowered. The pure desolation often etched finely across his face during the times he was at his weakest would stir Jessie's feelings and she would all but often be left unsettled by the intensity of her brother's withdrawal. The way he isolates himself from the world when his thoughts simply become too much for him seemed far too extreme for a boy of that age and this, as Jessie had come to unfaithfully find out, the facts of life he was already aware of by this point could possibly withhold the ultimate capability of shattering a child's mind into microscopic pieces. Before the pieces would crack again when the child faced such facts face to face; therefore bringing themselves to such a position where they could face the danger in the eyes, and then break down right before the hands of a force much more vigilant than themselves, leaving them both vulnerable to attack and manipulation in the lines of the superior force. The superior force often became a combination of the haunting memories and paranoia encrypted into the backs of their minds through the things the victim has seen and the circumstances they had been subjected to for a long period of time reaching up until death. Especially with the decaying world being pulled further and further into caving pits of pessimism which were all but easy to escape from. It pulled the world down, and hard.

With this kind of Society came a world not many could prosper, one where crime had lacked punishment in some places and increased drastically in others. Crime that shouldn't exist so to speak; crime that had surged forward, tearing the world's economy into shreds after the terror had imploded the world into scalding smithereens. Controlling the people and keeping the General Escorts in charge had suddenly become much more important than the people themselves, leaving the people of the world to suffer in contaminated silence as the leaders kept their rule firm above all. Roles in the Districts would have to be filled by townspeople, and these rules were often vital as they would only have one per District. The positions in Society were often harsh and exhausting and such positions were often filled in with children barely older than the age of five. The working conditions were often fatal and many of them would find their deaths perched within the firm hands of injury, illness or, in most cases, starvation.

Many of these jobs, to no surprise, would often leave blunt scars behind to ache the victim's core. Trauma and horror pasted finely together only to explode when touching the first sign of life within the individual's fragile body, only to burn maliciously when the rounded ache intensified to its peak. And the scars were almost impossible for children to break out of, especially when the world went on to show nothing better than the very images that had burned their minds from young ages. The crimes that went unnoticed and the deeds one might do for another that'd be punished, severely, would often encrypt themselves into the back of the child's mind from the early stages of infancy, wearing on through their childhood ant to years of short-lived adulthood. Therefore leading the young people of today's age to know nothing about the true wonders of the world that just lay around out of Society which had been bordered off to keep the farmers out and the townspeople in. Though the General Escorts only allowed the farmers to keep a small amount of their own products, there was no denying the fact that those who lived in the countryside had the best lives of all in the eyes of those who knew what lay away from the tattered cities and towns, living life away and free from the ultimate dangers seeping through a vast majority of the Western World's population like an intoxicated wildfire. But the children deriving from the countryside often weren't better off than the rest of civilisation, because work was just as hard and the knowledge that things could be a heck of a lot worse only set their anxious thoughts on spur. Spiralling endlessly into the glum distance they daren't enter.

Crime was something unheard off in the countryside, but not unknown. The entire country by this time had been aware of the Fates that lay before the Dead Ends. It was no surprise that farmers and their families knew actually, because anyone trying to cut through the borders unauthorised would almost instantly be branded a Dead End to be. Children often tried to get over the line as well, but the rules for the interstates didn't seem to apply to the patrollers on duty. The children wouldn't have to be nineteen years, two months and nine days anymore to await Death. The wait would simply be too long and all intruders needed to be dealt with as quickly as possible to avoid having the townspeople and those living in the countryside find their way over to the other side of the line where they would cease to fulfil the duties that had been set for them. Instead, to keep matters running efficiently, the children were shot. Many of those shot often had friends that feared the barrier line after witnessing the death of a fellow young one and these fears would also be implanted into the back of their minds like an iron brander indenting wood. And, as expected, many of these children had witnessed the crimes of which an innocent being would be branded a Dead End for, and this would urge the horrifying withdrawal up to the victim to help the individual escape the world which could never be changed.

Murdering someone with a roll to play in Society would give you a straight ticket into the fiery pits of Death. Kill a housewife, and the crime would be overlooked instantly. Kill a foul, cheap baker to feed a town would get another executed. If the Baker, on the contrary however, decided to rape and kill a young woman however out of pure greed and malfeasance, the lawful powers of the Area would turn a blind eye to the situation without a hesitation to be made.

The images of the world today could give a blind man the urge to pull his eyes out of their sockets, and the appalling sounds erupting directly from the core of conflicts and suffering could make a deaf individual determined to rip off their own ears in despair and desperation. And, ultimately, the dreadful ideas seeping through the ears of the General Escorts day after day could make a dead man turn over in the pits he had been thrown into after death along with thousands of other individuals; naked, stripped of dignity, to forever remain rotting in the ditch of decaying flesh and foul odours. And this could all scar another's mind, and children were of no exception.

Bullseye, however, had seen much of the world by this point and the scars crested within him, just eager to burst at his weakest points, all counted up to an estimated figure he couldn't bring himself to look up to. The scars were excruciating to say the least, but this was nothing yet to take all matters into consideration.

He had seen Death, but he had never met it. He had seen the fiery pits of hell through his many travels, but had never actually entered them. He had seen conflicts fought and battles lost, but had never actually encountered them. And he had read this exact expression upon his older sister's face many times, but he had never lived it. And he came to realize this unfaithfully as he lifted his gaze to face Jessie fully.

A stir in his thoughts urged the inner emotions forward and Bullseye found his face faltering in worry. The years of their stolen lives had brought forward a sense of insecurity Bullseye had withheld about himself, settling deeply into his core where it could never be dug out. And this insecurity would often stir his thoughts, leaving his features blank and his eyes expressionless as he simply gazed off into the deceiving distance. But he had been aware of how he could be withdrawn from reality and it often unsettled him, but escaping a trance once he had been drawn into one was often difficult and excruciatingly upsetting. However though, this fact led Bullseye on to being able to recognize a trance when he directly in face with one. And, in all cases, it was his sister he would be staring at…

His anxiousness rising to its peak, Bullseye found himself unsure of what he should do. With panic rising within him, he unsteadily reached out to place a hand on his sister's thing in the hopes that this would be enough to break her out of whatever she might be thinking of. For all he knew, it could have been the exhaustion catching up to her for once. But he severely doubted this would be so. The growing instinct cresting in him was threatening to burst, and this sensation was one far too strong for him to ignore.

When he placed his small hand atop his older sister's thigh, a strange feeling suddenly overwhelmed him and he found himself just, drifting away again. Lifting his senses to the almighty heavens where they truly belonged, a feeling of pure content suddenly washed over his heart and he inhaled deeply. Enlightening everything within him the way it was needed. Something took over him then and there, and he suddenly felt like the desired stranger in his own body. Words, and only the ones he can hear, caressed his mind lovingly and he felt his senses sink into them:

**_-'Day follows the Night always…'-_**

Even these words though, didn't seem to have an effect on him now. Problems seemed to vanish for just a moment and, as all within him became settled, he drew out the relaxing breath. His mind steadying as his heart moved forward progressively, he suddenly felt content for the first time in a while. Something paranormal still continued to reach into him even after his heart was stuffed with the ultimate joy he had yearned to find for months on end, extracting every bad feeling and every troubling paranoia lurking through his mind and his spirits and he simply just, relaxed…

His spirit seemed to reach out to the rest of the world as he steadied the strenuous muscles in his mind, preventing them from blocking the artificial horrors away from the world and away from him. Where they truly belonged…

A strong stir in the wind drew him away from his thoughts and out of the trance that had submerged his world into content happiness and pure bliss. A sharp gasp told him that the chill in the winds had snapped his sister out of her own state as well, and he sighed to himself in relief.

It was obvious she had been thinking because when she noticed his apparent anxiousness, her expression faltered.

"I'm sorry boy…" She muttered simply, her voice drifting off before she caught another glance of his questioning eyes. This brought along the strong urge to sigh as she felt the unsettled sensations perched themselves within her. It was a fair enough question for him to ask though, she told himself. He had every right to know, even if she did, theoretically, lie out of her backside. "I was just - thinking, s'all."

_'Thinking about when I kissed him more like…_' Jessie found herself inwardly, before slapping herself mentally. Even after seventeen months she still felt embarrassed and stupid about the whole thing until this day. She had been so weak that day, and this was what she had scalded at herself for afterwards. She had been vulnerable and had withdrew herself away from reality after making sure her brother had been safe in the Town's shelter and into an alleyway, where everything that had been haunting her for the past five years - the trauma, the horrible sights she had been unfortunate enough to witness, the pain and the suffering… - had caught up to her. The lurking feelings that had rushed through her senses in mad torrents of combustion and energy, breaking down everything within her into tears and sobs she had let out in her weakest moments.

What she had been unable to realize during that time though was that the Sheriff had been patrolling the town that night, making sure that the town was kept as peaceful as it could get whilst making sure that no-one unauthorised tried to break into the town aligning the peripheral rims of Area Five, District Eleven, and had come across her sobbing form. Her shoulders had shook and her spirits had been shattered, as the Sheriff had come to realize before witnessing the selected scene to hand. And he had naturally felt concerned for her at that point. So, she couldn't remember what had happened before she forwarded herself into the locking of lips, but it had all led on from that point to simplify matters…

Shaking her head again, she discarded these thoughts - not that they would help her now anyway - and turned her attention towards Bullseye and read his expression.

That must have been a lie, because Bullseye's expression dropped into the pits almost instantly, piercing a puncture into the lining of Jessie's heart unconsciously. Not that he would have known this anyway; he may have been able to read his expression, but not what she felt inside. That was far beyond impossible if she had been able to pinpoint the truth clearly to him.

Glancing up through his eyelashes, Jessie saw that his eyes were sorrowful and aching. But her heart still clenched when he tossed the next question she had wanted to avoid previously. One that he had every single right to know the answer to.

The question was reasonable enough and he had reason enough to ask it. It was one she had asked herself many times actually to speak the honest truth. But the look that came along with it almost burned a hole in her soul. She never had been able to stand the look of sheer hopelessness etched all across his features during the worst times and it was no surprise that she couldn't really. Since it was only the instinct kicking into her as it always should.

Realizing that her thoughts were drifting off topic completely, she shook her head and asked herself the question her brother had been desperate for her to answer.

Why did she want to go hunting and searching around for someone who had most likely received the order to shoot her at first sight? Truth was she asked herself this plenty. But the conclusion she came to was always hidden away from the eyes of her brother, though she was sure he would have known this already because Bullseye was no dumb child by any means. But the conclusion she came to always brought on yet another question she often asked herself when lost within the depths of her own thoughts. Did she really want to risk her life looking for the one person in her life who'd most likely sign his name in her blood after following orders now that everything they had once had burned into smithereens long before.

The mere thought of this often made her heart turn over and clenched her stomach, making her want to upchuck the little contents left in her stomach. But she knew there were some people out there who would stray away from their own set paths just to take joy and satisfaction out of feeling what it was like the kill one with the disgraceful blood.

Why would she want to place everything she had on the line - her provoking freedom, her right to feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins at the heat of the moment, everything she had and her right to live - just to see his soothing face one last time? Even if from a distance? The face belonging to the man she had fallen in love with always, even before her life had been set off its deathly hatch. The one man who probably spat her name out in disgust now that everything they had once had came crashing down -

She shook her head when she came over to the sense that her thoughts were on the edge of veering off into the distance where she knew they'd be hard to retrieve and forced them back into focus. Bullseye was still waiting for an answer and she became unfaithfully aware of this, leaving her jaw to drop open as she made an attempt to speak up. But nothing passed through her lips and all remained silent, apart from the occasion whisper emitting from the brittle winds. Not a single word to be heard…

She suddenly lost all conscious awareness of the area around her and, briefly (though only for a small moment of time), forgot whether she had drawn a breath recently and exhaled to keep measures secure. But this went only to her finding out that she hadn't. Caught slightly off guard by her own sudden action derived from her paranoia, she choked slightly as she felt a subtle heat creep up onto her cheeks.

Time began to seem inadequate and life seemed to freeze, locking her in place as her thoughts drifted off into the distance.

_A feeling of intriguing inquisitiveness crested deep inside her heart had seeped out through the holes of her exterior form during those times where she had caught sight of the lanky figure leaving from this room to the next when called by the Sheriff of the area to engage in several duties the head man couldn't contemplate in one-handed. Taking little time to observe why he might be called. Most often, the job would involve simply filling in a few of the aged documents in order to make the lives of the General Escorts easier to live. As Jessie had, of course, come to learn during the time of her imprisonment within the condensed cell she had grown to both loathe and fear._

_Often enough, she could catch a glimpse of the officer hunched over a desk filling out the boringly important work from her position in the corner of the cell where she had unconsciously cowered with her brother firmly implanted within her arms. And then her heart would creep slightly, tingling her senses in ways she had never felt before. It had never been anything too major by any means, but it had always been enough for her to question. And she would, indefinitely. And no conclusion would be met._

_Questioning herself most definitely wouldn't have led to anything, because the feeling peaking within her always felt foreign; almost giving off the impression that her body was the stranger and the feeling was the resident in the foreign country. A strange sensation lurking within the crested essence of her spirits she could cease to do all but relate to having a crush-like feeling towards someone who probably considered her to be the ultimate disgrace to reality. This, in other words, was what she had felt ever since the first time she had ever caught a glimpse of him._

_She had caught sight of him many times, and each time made her heart freeze in its tracks, but she had never once caught sight of his face previously. So she had no idea of how fast her heart could truly pound against her chest when meeting the face of the natural born superior until this day. And never had she expected the sight of 'his' face to do as much to her as it did. Especially when the rushing of heat floundering through his body should never torment her in the way it did now._

_To her, catching a full glimpse of his face was something else entirely; something different compared to everything else that had been forcefully inflicted on her during previous months. A sight that beheld her attention, lifting her spirits up slightly from the deceiving ashes, in an influential wave of mesmerising beauty and fateful joy._

_Woodrow Pride his name had been, and he had been an officer during the time of her imprisonment. But only half a year later had he been allocated the position of Sheriff at Area Five, District Eleven, where he would keep watch over one of the most dangerous Dead End's he could have come across. Of course, Oliver Turmoil had been allocated Sheriff after the death of Pride's father, but his few months being a Sheriff only lived in evanescence. For he had retired in his position and handed it down to a younger man to fulfil a certain position as a G.E he had been desperate to live up to. The position the current Sheriff had been handed recently had shocked Pride slightly as well as the other officers, especially when he had been handed it on such a short notice. Nevertheless, Woodrow had also been aware of how they handed out the jobs to the people in the area on a simple 'Lucky Dip' basis. To put it in simple matters for most, if someone was given a job they hated, they had no choice but to face it. Otherwise, there would always be room left in the prisons to hold more prisoners…_

_However, the 'Lucky Dip' hadn't applied to Pride, because his father had always been fond on having Woodrow work for the law. But this hadn't occurred to Woodrow in the slightest, because he knew better than to doubt the G.E_

_Jessica Jane hadn't been really sure why the Sheriff had been allocated above all the other officers, but she had been able to work out over the months that the man she gaped at in admiration from afar had something about the G.E crested into hi blood. Because that the odds for having such a man as young as Pride simply handed the position as a Sheriff on a 'Lucky Dip' basis was slim. 'Lucky Dip' may work for the rest of the world, but the General Escorts weren't full of hot air; this, Jessica knew to hand from personal experience. They may just hand out the position as an officer from the law out to anyone on the contaminated streets of the Modern Day's world, but the chances of choosing a low-life individual (poor in every way even by this world's standards) incapable of lifting up a pistol to save his life were zero to none. To state the obvious, deceiving Jessie's desperate hopes, the General Escorts were far from stupid. If the need arose, then they would take every precaution possible in order to secure their positions of authority upon the demolished country._

_Glancing at the features his face demonstrated - his remarkable jaw line, the surprisingly smooth texture of his skin given the lack of hygiene in other officers her gaze had stumbled across, his needle point nose which seemed to withhold the ability to be able to poke someone's eye out, the way his fringe seemed to lusciously curl backwards atop his forehead (mesmerizing her to a hidden degree), his warm eyes… - she felt something along the lines of heat creep up to her cheeks like a rat. Though, for only a brief moment, she had been clueless as to what this feeling really was._

_Her four-year-old brother had fallen asleep in her arms just a few moments before the new Sheriff with the blood of a G.E sat himself down at Turmoil's old desk opposite her outdated cell, so he was glad that he hadn't been able to see her as his older sister questioned her sanity. The feeling she felt now, it - it was appropriate, right? It surely had to be the heat of Nature reddening her cheeks and not the one confusing force in the world known as her insides, right?_

_She had never been sent to one of the rare, over packed schools in her life - for reasons she had 'once' been unable to understand - where they would often send the brains of the new generation aligning together to form a mass of conjoined individuals, but she knew enough about the body to be able to pinpoint the fact that this feeling she felt now had been due to hormones and 'not' the heat as she had desperately hoped (her Mother had taught her about the most important matters in life, as well as basic maths and reading and writing skills, before she had died four years before giving birth to Bullseye; sending both her daughter and her husband lost in a heap of despair that would take years to get over). And this knowledge sent Jessica's mind spiralling in circles, each turn in her focus scalding at her 'Inner Self' in gushes of intoxicated passion and spite for being as submissive as she had been to the stranger she had only just caught full sight of. That warm, caring and charming face of stunning beauty that restored her broken heart back in place and sent her heart thrashing at a pace she had never once dreamed possible, before melting her indecisive senses where they stood., perched right in the lines of magnificence as she stared at this complete and utter stranger in absolute awe._

_In her eyes, he was brilliant in every way, almost making her feel slightly envious of the man with the face she had only just caught a glimpse of. A pure piece of Heaven the superior powers in the world had just gifted her with. The perfect fitting piece of the world a part of her had been so desperate to find to solve the hidden puzzle crested into the depths of her soul her unconscious mind had been yearning to complete. Just perfect in itself actually - 'he' was perfect. Warm when she was so cold. Perfection when she felt so incomplete. Heavenly when she felt trapped in this Hell on Earth. Life when she was only a few years away from facing Death. Loving when she felt so empty inside…_

_When she eventually came to realize that she had been gaping at the man looking over the boringly important papers in absolute admiration with her eyes wide and her mouth agape, she shook her head in disbelief. Thanking her lucky stars that he hadn't looked up from his position at the desk opposite her cell during the brief spell of bewitching admiration that had just been cast upon her, she dropped her gaze to her sleeping brother buried within her arms._

_She had never been able to sleep in this cell properly; it just felt so desolated and it set her spirits into a prolonged state of pessimism, leaving her feel rather empty inside even despite the fact that she had everything she needed implanted in her arms._

_Trying to force her thoughts over to another concept, Jessie soothing caressed her brother's back and sighed. Bullseye had begun to seem even more withdrawn than usual lately, and Jessie hadn't been blind to this by any means. At times he could stare at the wall for hours on end without moving a single muscle, with inaudible breaths and distant eyes. And this would unsettle his sister without fail when she came to realize, as always, the reason behind his sudden trance. Trauma could do a lot to an infant as fragile as himself, and he had seen just how far the world can sink to eradicate their paranoia. This though seemed irrational if not to speak the truth, because paranoia shouldn't spread like wildfire cross the whole of the world in the way it did. It wasn't plausible by any means. Not that Jessie could blame her brother for being traumatized by it all, because she had been just as upset over all of this as he had. It just seemed to - 'settle' upon her discreetly. Building up within her rather than crashing down in her and demolishing every trace of sense she had left in massive waves of heat and exasperation._

_Her brother hadn't slept decently lately due to the horrors that'd keep him awake at nights, but tonight he had been far more exhausted than he ever should have been, and Jessie had somehow soothed him down enough to get him to sleep. So she had been grateful for this, as a lack of sleep wouldn't help either of them in this situation, but it had greater effects upon Bullseye than it did on her._

_For a few moments nothing other than Bullseye's slow and steady breaths could be heard, and she suddenly found herself attempting to close her eyes for once; hoping that sleep would come naturally and that the ache pounding at the back of her head would soon die down. But this state of half-hearted content only lived in evanescence though, slightly disappointing Jessie when her eyes snapped open to the dim cell around her. Not that she had expected anything different though, because this just wouldn't be plausible to say the least. Especially when her luck had stretched to its last leap many years before this day._

_As though on cue, the bad forces of the world plagued the young boy with a coughing fit. One that drew both him and his sister from their momentary trances as Bullseye awoke from his slumber with a start._

_He hadn't been well lately, Jessie came to remind herself. Ever since being imprisoned half a year before, Bullseye had suffered a terrible cough; though Jessie was sure that it was much worse than she presumed. And it had been one that had been impossible to get over. Despite the fact that it was a long-term set back, nothing drastic had happened to the boy yet, so Jessie could only thank the deceiving Heavens for this if they had any room left for her uncalled prayers._

_To her surprise, the Sheriff looked up from his position to see the prisoner caressing the back of the coughing boy, and frowned slightly. But this frown didn't seem to be one of exasperation if she could judge his expression clearly, seeming almost to be one of concern instead._

_"Hey," He murmured slowly, but cautiously. Without another word spoken for the moment, he stood up and made his way towards the cell. "Is he all right?"_

_Kneeling down in front of the bars, he unconsciously examined the young boy for any sign of discomfort._

_"Yeah," She answered simply, daring not to speak any more than she had. "He'll be fine."_

_Her heart clenched in her chest when she said this. She knew fully well that her brother was most definitely 'not' fine, but in no way would she speak anymore than this. Especially when it was apparent that he withheld the blood of a G.E._

_His eyebrows furrowing, the Sheriff could do no more than discard the situation and frown inwardly. However though, given that Jessie had been very close to the bars of the cell, something within her took control instantly; wiping all common sense away._

_"Wait!" She ushered, reaching her hands through the bars to grab the Sheriff's arm._

_The magnetic pulse almost instantly darted through her arms, and her nerves were suddenly set ablaze as she felt all of her problems simply, vanish. Her thoughts wouldn't make any sense, so she came to realize, but the mere touch set them on spur._

_Allowing her natural instinct to take control, she closed her eyes and reached out to a higher power to obliterate anything bad the Sheriff might've had trapped in his soul and then her thoughts just, drifted into the distance. The World around her began to feel inadequate and, for the first time she could recall in a long while, she suddenly felt at ease. _

_To her unconsciousness, the Sheriff had also found himself closing his eyes as the flourishing sensation riddled his senses. Allowing the supernatural power to take over everything in sight, he inhaled deeply and blanked his mind. Not something he had often been able to do. Especially not when he always had to make use of that third eye to make sure that he, himself, was kept safe. Since some were desperate enough to contemplate anything these days._

_During this time, something heavy was heaved up in his soul, and he suddenly began to feel as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Making him feel content as the soft tingling her touch emitted floundered through his body. _

_He felt chaste and eased. The way he had always meant to be.  
><em>


	5. The Voices in the Void

_**Chapter Four**_

To Jessica's surprise, she hadn't torn herself away from her previous trance with a start this time. This would ultimately be unexpected for her during usual circumstances but when she really drew her thoughts over to the outstanding matter to ponder for a while, she came to realize that no element of surprise could be found.

When her memories were provoking enough to become lost in them, she could remain frozen in her place for minutes on end simply just gazing into the distance with deflated eyes. Her expression and her state of mind during these times would often align her brother's, meaning that her expression could easily match his and that, in turn, she became lost in her own thoughts as well. Lost in the world her own mind created by stitching her thoughts and her memories together to form something with the ability to contaminate her inner will with the plague the rest of the world had been riddled with for decades.

With her memories as fresh as ice, the strange feeling with no plausible moral would settle atop her senses and her instincts. From what she could tell, the strange combination could quite possibly be a mixture of guilt, horror and exasperation which had been finely rolled into one and suppressed into a thick paste that had been injected into her nerves during her time of imprisonment. And it was this perplexing combination that subjugated her every inner, logical thought into a faint whisper with only strength left to scream at her mind during their times of weakness.

The memories with the Sheriff in them, however, would most definitely always be the most painful ones of the lot. In her mind, the fact that she had fallen in love with him even before he had saved her from death, was undeniable. She had fallen head over heels for him when she had been imprisoned as not only had he shown a sense of concern for her; but also for her brother when other officers would simply ignore the boy and class him as the unwanted nuisance. He had shown that he had cared for them both when the rest of the world wanted to push the time of her death forward - which, in reality, wasn't questionable given the surging paranoia infesting every corner of the continent.

She'd often be reminded of him through thoughts and memories, but the thoughts were easy enough to circumspect to, as long as she thought about what to do with them before tossing them aside. But the memories were something different entirely. They would show her exactly why she wanted to find him and why he was worth finding, though even she didn't know what would happen when, and 'if' she ever travelled those one hundred and fifty miles to get to him. Would it be the simple case that he'd draw out a pistol and shoot the Dead End on the run without a hesitation to be made? Or would he wait for others to deal with her and keep out of the situation completely? Given that he was the Sheriff of his Area, she could see that one of the options would be most likely. But she couldn't help but wonder as the memories began to take their toll upon her again.

One matter though, was never overlooked in Jessica's perspective. And the memories formed from the happenings of her past would sometimes stitch the matter up and hand it out fresh. Of course, these memories would be the ones that would state exactly what she needed and exactly why she needed it. And, for a memory with the Sheriff somehow caught within the midst of it, this was the most painful one of the lot she had come across. As not only did it show her what she needed and why she needed it, but it handed out the disloyal reminder. That she had left him, of course. But it wasn't even as though she had once had a choice, because she hadn't. It's just - well - she couldn't even bring herself to come to the realization that the whole situation for her had once been narrow.

Of course it had. Narrow was the only term to pinpoint the exact moral choice she had made those sixteen months before, especially when it had been with Bullseye in mind. No child deserved to grow up in such a tampered, desolate environment, and Bullseye had spent the lesser half of his life copped up in the eerie cell. And he hadn't even been a prisoner either, but they had still treated him like dirt. This thought, and this thought alone, had implanted the boiler in Jessica's core and it would often leave her feeling rigorous and tempered.

When her thoughts were entangled in enlivened exasperation, Jessie drew herself away from them and shook her head again. These thoughts wouldn't do her any good anytime soon, especially if she was prepared to spend every waking moment of every long day reeling over what she had lost and besides, to reassure herself of the severely important matters she faced in her life, it wasn't worth steering your train of thought off to the middle of nowhere when others have to be kept as secure as possible, she soon told herself. Leading her forward to the instinct that kept her younger brother from questioning any further.

Her mind stumbling forward in order to locate the appropriate answer to his question, Jessie quickly brought the words together and uttered them out aloud.

"He's a Sheriff," She began simply, surprising herself with the silky-like tone etched throughout her voice. "So wherever he is will be safe. And if it's safe, we're likely to find good enough food and water there; as long as we can get there of course." A gust in her thoughts brought forward a small pause, and Jessie found her faltered expression becoming solemn as she lowered her gaze to meet the eyes of her brother. She briefly considered dropping the next matter to be mentioned, when she thought better of it. "But I need you to do as I say to get there, okay?"

She knew it was completely pointless asking, for Bullseye would follow her to the end of the world if proved necessary. He was as loyal as anyone could get in this world, even for a child of his age. But matters needed to be cleared first in order to proceed. Common instinct told Jessica that she couldn't just expect to have Bullseye follow her anywhere she goes without first seeming willing to go with her, as she knew that taking his loyalty for granted would be unfair. And being that type of individual was exactly who she never wanted to be. So, instead of taking the better of the answers for granted, she waited.

Taking that he knew his sister meant what she said, though he knew there was far more behind it than she let on, Bullseye's lips twitched. And with this came a sense of nervousness rather than the washing disappointment that had overcome him only a few moments before. Not that he could physically see a way around the answer he knew he was bound to give, because Jessie would always know what's best in situations. Even if, theoretically, she did keep more from him than she let on. So for these reasons, he would be prepared to stick with her until all was settled - though he did severely doubt that such a thing would ever occur…

Demolishing the provoking thoughts instantly, the nine year old boy nodded. A small gust in the winds crept up to Jessie following his answer, and she withheld a shiver as she watched his expression become fixed. Nervousness and melancholy etched thoroughly into one, deafening Jessie's screaming conscience down into a small speck of ash with the inability to call out for itself. Maybe he didn't fully understand just how his over-expressive attitude could hurt Jessie inside? Maybe he could read her expression, but not her heart as Jessie had always tried to prevent him from reading? Being mute, Bullseye always had to rely on using expression to communicate instead of speech, but sometimes expression was simply too much to deal with. Words, after all, only ever displayed so much emotion. But expression - well - a picture is worth a thousand of those words they'd say. A thousand deep, troubling words with the power to spill out the contents of a heart within the mere matter of a few minutes. But did he know this? She often couldn't help but wonder. Did he truly realize just to which extent his expression left her deeply sorrowful? Somehow, Jessica didn't think he did - Bullseye just wouldn't hurt her like that intentionally, as she had come to learn. But was it entirely coincidental it occurred so frequently?

Blinking hard to obliterate her previous thoughts, Jessie frowned at the sight. Something in the air jabbed at her insides, and she suddenly felt unnerved, but she pushed these feelings aside to focus on the truly important matters she has yet to face.

"Thanks, boy." She murmured uselessly, only to see the obvious in her actions when her words came to no use. Her expression faltered further and instinct had her place a hand on her brother's shoulder, trying to reassure him of what she still had to tell herself. "Tell you what. Hey, boy? One day, we'll be free from all of this. We'll have a nice place to live, somewhere to sleep with the biggest garden you can imagine -" She paused briefly, catching a glimpse of Bullseye's expression as he glanced up at her through his eyebrows. "And then you'll have as much land as you like to run around." She wanted to promise this. Oh, she wanted to guarantee this so badly. But something within her just couldn't at her moment, her words failed to comply with her nagging conscience. "We'll have as much food and as much water as we'll ever need. Okay, boy? But first of all we have to find his town to help us get the things we need. And for this to happen, we have to set ourselves afoot."

His expression twitched again, but this brought forward another nod. But the nod she saw seemed forced and this made her heart clench in her chest, deprived of all the reassurance she needed to keep her thoughts secure and her hopes high. Disintegrating every source of optimism within her into fine ashes; the winds of the night blowing them away as she sighed.

"Bullseye?" She questioned, her voice solemn as she squeezed his shoulder. "It will happen, all right? It'll take some time, but I promise it'll happen, okay? I promise?"

Did he really take her promise into account? She wondered. Did he trust her words? Or was he just trying to place her at ease for the night? She wasn't sure of this by any means, but she forced a smile and squeezed his shoulder a little more.

"That's a good boy." She said soothingly, her smile threatening to falter when she met his questioning gaze. No, she told herself eventually. She wouldn't make them go now. Not yet anyway, though she severely doubted she'd gain anything out of this.

"No," She answered briefly, her tone positive. "We won't be going now. " She told him honestly, trying her best to keep her tone firm. That'd be the easy indicator that she felt as nervous as can be all around. "But for now though, it'd be best if we got some rest."

Bullseye nodded uneasily and for once Jessie became aware of the dying rain, dragging her thoughts off and over into a state of unconscious thinking. Weather at nights didn't seem to affect them so much, but they had come across conditions much worse than this with only a few materials to keep them sheltered when the dark hours of the night came along and, though they weren't covered completely, the arching body of a broken building above them kept the worst of the water off. And the two had looted from a small handful of old, rundown stores from decades ago that had been practically destroyed at a very early stage in all the chaos; so they had clothing to keep themselves warm when the temperature turned bitter - which didn't happen frequently, surprisingly, as the lurking pollution of the recent years bottled everything inside and lifted the temperature up higher during the midst of the day and withheld itself partially to the late hours of the night.

On this thought, Jessie instinctively drew her gaze towards the rain bucket she had knocked down previously and, even though she knew it'd be useless, she reached a hand over to position it in the serviceable position. Doing this enabled her to spot the useless radio across from her, lying limp and inept, and she frowned. If the Sheriff hadn't tracked the disruptive signal down to this District, then it'd be an absolute miracle. But she was more logical than this. Convincing herself that the Sheriff wasn't smart enough to track it down would be a stupid thing to do, and a bloody miracle if it turned out so. But if the static was like that everywhere and if he was one hundred and fifty miles away from where she was, then it might take a while to get there. And the Sheriff was bound to know this, she told herself, for he wasn't full of hot air. So whether or not the Sheriff saw any point in having a patroller sent to where she was or not seemed a slight mystery to her, but she knew she had enough time to fill in a good few hours before moving again.

Surprising Jessie slightly, for she had been caught off guard with her train of thought wandering aimlessly in the distance, Bullseye brought his knees to his chest and nestled against her left arm. Cherishing the warmth of her body he felt he needed during this cold night. Tranquillity suddenly crested within her and Jessie smiled gently before lifting her left arm to wrap it around him, intensifying the heat by holding him against her chest. Another instinct led her faulty hand to the rucksack they had, again, looted from a store and stuffed with necessities and opened it, though the task in manoeuvring the nerves of her hand around such a simple task proved to be moderately difficult. She pulled out a small blanket and closed it again, forcing back a flinch when she felt the pins and needles for yet another time. They only had one of these, but it still went to a good use nonetheless; even if it was worn and tattered.

Wrapping it carefully around her brother, she settled herself back and rested her back against the wall. Suddenly feeling very precautious of the following day, her thoughts only became entangled as the oncoming hours lured her deeper into their depths.

()()()()

A sharp entanglement in his head forming from the contradicting thoughts that ran endlessly within the peripheral rims of Woodrow Pride's conscience set the Sheriff's mind on spur as the gloomy echoes emitting from his boots against the dirt floor below his feet rang through his ears. Deafening the silence he wished would roam freely throughout the area around him to settle his anxious nerves down into the pits where they truly belonged. An eerie presence shadowed the exterior area of the damp-ridden hallway around him, setting his conscience on edge as his eyes adjusted themselves to suit the dim light protruding all around, masking all he saw with the absolute burden of melancholy. The feeling of being followed couldn't be shook off, though he severely wished it would. As the mere sense set his insides ablaze.

The world around him seemed somewhat infested with the purity of unwanted spirits and, thus, most definitely was the unwanted presence he could sense lurking through the air at this moment in time. His perspective often saw many aspects of the world in this way, down-shadowing his soul into the unperceivable pits of pessimism. Despite what others might've claimed had they been aware of the Sheriff's uneasiness, it was only really natural for him to feel like this as he made his way to the end of the hallway where the door leading to the cells where the more serious criminals of this station were held. Especially given that he had never been particularly happy as a child, but the vibrancy of this old sensation only coursed through time to this day.

There was no denying the fact that the Sheriff had known what had been happening in the world outside the front door of his old home as a child, the dreadful knowledge eventually bringing along the forged sense of disunity to peck at his senses. Since he had always been home schooled by his mother as his father (being a member of the G.E) had suggested, he had never been given the chance to interact with other children his age. Even despite the fact that Raymond Pride had been a General Escort, Woodrow's father had detested the idea of having his son taught in one of those rotten, public schools and it was never safe for anyone of any age to be outdoors on their own at any time. So all chances of the young boy exploring the rest of the world had been obliterated at a very young age. With it all down lightening his perspective down into the mask of darkness that overshadowed the world. The world where fears roamed freely and people lived with the tendency to expect the worst lingering over their shoulders.

Of course, with his thoughts aligning the spur, he came to remind himself that there was a fear he shared with the rest of the world. Though it was far from difficult to sympathise with the Dead Ends for the crimes they had committed, he could only fatefully draw himself to the conclusion that the dreadful tearing apart from the one person he had truly grown cared for had been because of these exact fears. And the worst of them all to deepen the trail. One many tried to prolong, even if it was effectively inevitable.

And this fear, of course, was the fear of falling into the hands of Death. This was the exact fear that had led the course of his thoughts completely off course when the pain struck his core.

_"Jessica!" The Sheriff found himself calling after the young redheaded girl, suddenly feeling unsettled as the nineteen-year-old passed the doors of the shelter, making her way through the dimly lit dirt-road street without considering the need to think twice. A stir in the winds lifted the airs on his body up in defence as the night became cold, and the Sheriff abruptly became desperate. He had never had anyone disobey his orders before after becoming Sheriff, and the fact that this girl was intentionally ignoring him to place herself in danger only edged him more. "You can't do this!"_

_No matter how much his mind had developed over the last few years, there would always be that narrow section of his mind left to ponder over the simplest matters irrationally. Why would she want to risk herself in this way after being released from the hands of confinement? He would often ask himself this, but the conclusion he came to was always the same: Indecipherable. No matter how hard he tried to rearrange the wording of the question around, or how long he worked on it, it didn't make the slightest difference. As the narrow section of his mind was always far too compressed to even have the slightest chance of being able to manoeuvre his thoughts around the question to piece the answer together in the back of his mind. In other words, the blood of a General Escort was far more contagious than he could've possibly imagined. And both the former Dead End and the Sheriff had come to this realization by now._

_Her heart suddenly stopping dead in its tracks, her senses were set ablaze in vexation. Alike the Sheriff, she didn't understand the other's morals. And no matter how hard she could try - no matter the extent to which she could hurt herself, as this would never matter - she couldn't see why he was the way he was. Didn't he realize that he effectively had a choice? He could escape the country and travel south in the matter of a few days, where the area was entranced with the natural beauties of the world she wished she could dive straight into the middle of. Being a former Sheriff of Area Five, District Eleven, no one in their right minds would try to question him or get in his way if he decided that he simply needed to cross the barrier lines of the country. And there was nothing to stop him from pushing himself further once he was across it, and they both knew this fully well. He could escape and live the dreams he had yearned to reach, and he could finally be free of the provoking rules and restrictions, just as he had wanted to be for so long._

_Instead of facing this world day after day, Jessie eventually came to convince herself, he could flourish in the rest of the world's beauty by simply leaving. He could live in freedom and flounder in excellence. And all it would take to accomplish this was for him to get this idea past himself. But this was the hardest part, as Jessie had come to realize. For a Sheriff had a heart to use, unlike all other officer's in the modern day and age, but this wasn't even finding half the work; as the Sheriff had one but, in reality, finding out where it truly lies had always been the tricky part. And now - well - neither of them knew where it was._

_Her eyes narrowed as she turned around, stopping dead in her tracks, towards him and the Sheriff suddenly became very self-conscious of himself. Should he really be reacting to her ideas and her plans in this way? He asked himself now, his thoughts beginning to wander aimlessly. Or would it be best to arrest her for treason and let the authorities deal with her? He pondered over this heavily, but always came to the same conclusion: It was almost an impossible decision to make. Let her walk away in such an obvious way, and then he could risk getting them both shot if she was found. Deal with the treason the way he should, then he didn't think he'd ever forgive himself. Or he could simply force them through it the way a Sheriff should and force them through the work that would probably exhaust her brother to death by the end of it, but he didn't think she'd ever forgive him for that. And, with the way things had been going lately between them, he didn't think he could live that long if that had been the case._

_A stir in his thoughts brought his reeling mind onto another matter when coming into line with her stone-like gaze, edging him over the deathly drop with no landing in sight. Did she honestly understand just how extreme treason was in this world? He wondered unconsciously, slightly aware of the fact that she must have been reading his thoughts at that time in the meanwhile. A wrong word at the wrong time can send an innocent individual to their deaths if they were careless with their tongues. It was a known fact actually. Well - for him it had been anyway, especially given that he'd once been a Sheriff of the worst station of them all. He had seen many criminal reports in his time, a fair majority of them belonging to Dead Ends who had, fortunately for the rest of Society, already lost their lives by this point in time. He had no idea of what Jessica had done to find herself in such a position - though he knew it was fairly serious - in the first place, but he could make a pretty decent guess of what it might have been: Treason of course. A drop of evidence leading towards treason would have a man shot in the matter of a few days. Thieves, first class murderers, those who had spoken their minds at the wrong time, political opponents… They were all charged of the same crime, but this didn't even meet a fraction of the ultimate list._

_Treason was the worst crime of them all in this Society. A single trace leading back to a suspicious individual would be traced instantly, and the person would cease to exist any further a few days later. And the General Escorts didn't give a care whether the traitor was an important individual in the running of an Area or not, as a disgrace to Society was a disgrace no matter how clean they had been. Even the Sheriff could wind up discharged and shot if found out of line, and death seemed to be the only fear left to face in this world. As all others fears had overrun over several generations. Fire, conflicts, the world and even the dark, as many had endured these fears for so long that it became nothing more than a daily habit. The list of overrun fears was absolutely endless. Death, however, could not be pushed aside. No one can endure it themselves to such an extent where it could be forgotten. No - it would destroy people inside when witnessing such an occurrence, and then it would destroy them physically in later times. Jessica had become aware of this, and so had the Sheriff. If all fears had become obliterated, then there was nothing to keep the balance in line._

_So, for this reason - but not this alone - Death was the worst fear of them all. And both the Sheriff and the former Dead End were utterly petrified of it inside. No matter how they tried to conceal it._

_Jessica read his thoughts, just like she had always been able to, and felt her heart falter. A part of her tried to speak at this moment in time, but another part of her just physically couldn't, like a strong contradiction pulling its weight on her heart. And it hurt, badly._

_"Woody!" She retorted, her voice threatening to crack as her expression drooped. She didn't understand why he wouldn't just leave her to it, was there something to this all he hadn't told her of yet? She couldn't help but wonder as she panted ridiculously for breath, her anxiety beginning to settle in as she gaped at the superior in shock. "Why won't you just listen to me?"_

_Something within him kept him from answering for a brief moment, but then the common instinct of a Sheriff overrode him instantly. A gust in his thoughts with the ultimate potential to snap her heart into half a thousand pieces. Venom in the world where dirt was the least of the young girl's problems._

_"You are defying them with every chance they gave you!" He stated firmly, speaking with authority when it was clear that Jessica Jane (the girl who had no choice other than to change her name when imprisoned) had no intention of following the law. Maybe he should have known that this would have drawn the line earlier than he had? Or maybe he should always just wait for the mental scalding before coming across the mistake in his actions? He often wondered this, as this would all break his spirits soon enough - earlier than he had imagined actually._

_Unknowingly stepping towards him, her eyes flashed from shock to exasperation. She honestly couldn't understand this. Why couldn't he just read her morals? This wasn't to protect herself by any means, as she'd happily break herself into pieces if it would protect her brother from the same type of torture. Especially being as young as he was. But the General Escorts didn't work like that. They allowed the rich and the obedient to live and those poor as well as the untrustworthy to suffer the provoking consequences. A life was no life unless they had something to offer the almighty powers that had taken over the country decades before to revive the broken country into something better than the chaos that had erupted throughout the whole of the Western World - though to no avail of course, since things only worsened from then. And the people of Society were convinced that the only people left to blame after this were the ten individuals who had been marked on their lists._

_To simplify matters briefly, the chain had only weaved on from here, leading to the sentences and the deaths of hundreds of other individuals. Hunting every single person with the blood and the trust of a traitor down within an instant without a second hesitation to be made. This, to state the obvious, was apparent to one of the two individuals standing within the midst of the dirt-tracked street during the settling of night, but the only one who could truly make a difference in this situation was clueless to this fact._

_Naturally, distress crested within her. Leaving Jessie to feel purely desolate inside and worthless, never to come to the conclusion she needed to heave her spirits from the crater of melancholy and into the limelight of the natural day. That the Sheriff really would understand her morals and help her like no other person had in a long time. Though these prolonging hopes were only ever to slip down the drain when the optimistic became pessimistic._

_Shaking her head in frustration, it was hard for Jessie to keep the idealistic emotion from seeping into her eyes as she retorted these next words:_

_"Defying them?" She questioned sternly, a sense of bewilderment etched finely into her callous words. Her words pulling off the desired effect when the Sheriff's gaze narrowed in half-hearted shock. "I'm defying them?" She asked again, her cold voice refusing to coordinate with the Sheriff's words. They simply didn't make sense. When the look in her eyes faltered again, rage overtook her, leaving her senses bare. "The damn rules shouldn't exist in the first place!"_

_His eyes widening to their extent, the Sheriff felt his nerves align the deathly edge. Words like those were what had led hundreds to their deaths. And Jessica Jane had already escaped death once, so falling free from the hands of Demise a second time was an impossibility. The General Escorts were only ever willing to listen to a certain extent before jumping to an indefinite conclusion; one of which was almost always fatal if anything. And her words were defying them completely. One word heard of that would lead to her death instantaneously._

_"Jessica-" The Sheriff urged, his anxious voice threatening to break as he kept the tone in his voice discreet._

_"What kind of rules are they?" She retorted solemnly, pushing aside Woodrow's plea. If the Sheriff hadn't been so dazed, then he would have had half a mind to interrupt her in an instant. Her words were leading to the truth though, as Pride came to realize now. The truth the Sheriff had wanted to avert. "They're going to exhaust a young, helpless child to death. And anything I can do about it will have us shot."_

_By now her tone had sunk and the Sheriff's found his heart aligning her words, sinking pointlessly when the chilling vocals struck his core. Under normal circumstances, Woodrow Pride wouldn't have felt any sympathy for the young woman before them, as being forced into labour was considered as only normal. The peasants of the towns always had their children work out of schooling hours, whilst the richer kept their children at home. Children with the blood of a General Escort, however, were privileged and, along with the children of the rich, wouldn't be forced to work until the stage of adulthood. Nineteen years, two months and nine days effectively, this was also when a Dead End became legible to face death._

_"Jess, there's no other choice about it -"_

_"But they don't even give a damn!" Jessie suddenly found herself exclaiming, her spirits shattering upon the deathly realisation. Not that she had expected anything different to speak the truth, but the knowledge was unnerving. Far more than she could have imagined. Then, out of nothing more than pure desperation, she asked: "Why don't they care?"_

_When her words made themselves apparent to the Sheriff, Woodrow Pride found himself unable to utter a single word of useful advice to settle the young girl down. By today's standards though, she was as much of an adult as he was, but the childlike edge in her features told a different story. She may have aged, but the scars from her teenage years would always burn on - though even he wasn't sure why. Maybe her scars were like the ones that had been torn into him when his father died? He would often ask himself this, even despite the fact that he was aware he'd never come to a conclusion of any sort. Perhaps the scars had been inflicted unfairly? He often wondered, though his was yet another hopeless question to ask, as it would get him absolutely nowhere._

_Feeling slightly disoriented, Woodrow Pride brought himself around to speaking up._

_"Jessica." He ushered in desperation, trying to amount all the higher matters of this situation to quieten her down to an extent. Indecipherable words like the one's she had just spoken were often what had led to the deaths of hundreds. A mouth as careless as hers was dangerous for the both of them, and ultimately fatal. "-We're not supposed to be talking about them like this-"_

_Discarding his saying instantly, unnerving the Sheriff to a greater extent, Jessie's expression faltered, flitching endlessly. Now that she seemed more angry than shocked, Woodrow Pride could only hope for the best…_

_"Then what are they going to do?" She asked expectantly, scoffing, her words like hot ice. Impaling into the Sheriff's senses before scalding everything in sight. "Shoot me without asking a question or even making sure I'm guilty of something first?"_

_His eyes growing wider in shock, the Sheriff tried to step forward and reach out, only to surprise himself when the girl stepped away. Nothing he could say would be able to soothe the smoke clouding her nerves, just moments away from smothering her completely. It might have been the strenuous shock of the situation playing on his senses - or…something else… - because his heart suddenly shattered into pieces when he saw the look etched across her face. Partial loath and full on exasperation, as well as something else he had difficulty making out, rolled into one. Painful, but yet freezing the fires of his broken heart into place._

_"Jessica! You can't be talking about them like that!"_

_"What's the point of even trying to please them Woody?" She questioned the superior in the situation expectantly, her voice becoming blank. For she honestly couldn't see the point. It was lost behind all the worthless charades that had been taunting her mind endlessly for days on end, buried deep within the depths of the torture she dared not to enter. "That seems to be the only thing they care about."_

_Exasperation shouldn't have played its effect upon the Sheriff at this moment in time, as it did not help him any further. But then the almighty powers screaming within him dropped when he saw the look of helplessness protruding along her facial features. It really was no surprise to him that her emotions were flickering continuously, as she had been acting in this way for days._

_"Jess…" He murmured hopelessly, seemingly searching thoroughly for the words of comfort that would never be uttered aloud. For comfort and easy-spirits were both unheard of in this situation. Both as impossible as each other to find. "You know why."_

_When her spirits shattered completely, the Sheriff was not left oblivious to it -_

_"Then why don't you let them do it?" She asked sternly, her question tugging on Woodrow's final heart string. Maybe she didn't fully realize just how concern he was for her? Or how he had almost fallen for her over the course of the last few years when coming across the unnatural vibrancy of her soul? Or just how his insides had soared to the concealed heavens when she had pushed herself forward to the locking of the lips only ten days before this night? The man with the broken heart could only ponder. "And then see if I care!"_

_"Jess -" He muttered uselessly, his voice only cutting itself off when his entire system crashed down on him. The world suddenly seemed blurred and foggy, barely making enough sense to the curious eye; just how Jessica had began seeing the world after the day her whole life caved in. The day her hopes had fled and her dreams had fallen. Pure melancholy as its best in other words… "You don't want to get yourself down that line again…"_

_Her face fell instantaneously, and this was when her broken spirits suddenly became apparent. He could feel the awkward vibrancy emitting through the air, and this tugged at him further._

_The world was distant to her, and Jessica didn't understand it. Why was one thing bad when something else was good? It was these simple differences that left her to ponder in the unearthly silence. Because they just didn't make sense. That much was sure._

_Speaking aimlessly, she asked: "Why do you even care?"_

_Shaking his head glumly, the Sheriff stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. Shouldn't she know this by now? He asked himself plainly._

_"Jess, I think you know." He told her solemnly. But she only snapped to her senses._

_Forcing the man away from her, she looked heartbroken as she exclaimed:_

_"It's not fair!" She exclaimed frightfully, her voice broken. Her eyes cold… "How can you let them do this to us?"_

A fateful tug at his heartstring drew the Sheriff back to his thoughts, and his spirit sunk when he found himself directly in face with the door leading to the cells. The one door that stood as the barrier between the awful world and then the one of the violated. It was trips around the prison like these that really made him dread his job.

Shaking his head abruptly to dismiss the provoking thoughts, Woodrow Pride braced himself for the sight to come. Trying to piece his soul back together with the absence of his cherished one lingering fatefully over him, though, seemed entirely impossible. As he never did believe he'd be able to live up the guilt of watching the one person in life a part of him had come to love walk away from him completely, for the pain was too extreme to bear.


	6. The Words of the Wise

_**Chapter Five  
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Coming to the door leading to one of the cell room's of Area Seven, District Three, the Sheriff tried to force his provoking thoughts aside. Though it could only ever be found difficult, given that they'd always creep inside his weak spots during the times his mind went spiralling off in an unknown direction. Not that he had known what had led this mind over to this though, but he presumed that it had something to do with the current situation. His mind was afraid, just as his senses were. That was obvious enough as he reached a hand out for the door, drawing his mind away from the lurking reality that would obliterate his senses in an instant.

The crisp air meeting his skin as he stepped into the dark room that locked the evils of life in place, disintegrating any hope into the fine ashes of the winds, chilled his bones evanescently, drawing him away from the thoughts that would've led him over to a completely different matter had they been left to spur in the dark and he felt his heart skip a beat. The ghostly presence lurking through the room, one evil like no other bouncing off the structure of the mouldy surface of the far walls, seemed eerie. Dark and uncanny - the cell rooms were always like this… Always emitting the abnormal power to make his mind feel sick and to make his stomach fall into the unsanitary pits. Chilling spasms inched down his spine, but he had been able to shake them off before they became any sort of a problem. Since the matters he truly had to face at the moment were far more important than the irrational discomforts he met in every-day life, as the Sheriff had come to unfaithfully realize.

The scent his senses met was foul, wreaking the area around him with a stench unlike none other he had ever come across before - seemingly alike a mixture of both bodily sweats that had been left to curdle and stale urine grinded into one. It pummelled into his system heavily and he suddenly felt like upchucking when he hadn't consumed anything in at least the last twenty-four hours. But he somehow managed to manoeuvre all of his inner will power around to withhold this urge for the moment as he fumbled round his pants pockets in thorough search. Not many people in the current western world had decent clothing to claim ownership of, with most stitching pieces of worn fabrics together themselves to form the absolute necessities needed as clothing from the inner town markets was often priced beyond their affording. This meant, for obvious reasons, that the Sheriff stood out amongst the civilians, which was critical if anything for the townspeople must always know their place if they wished to keep the bullet away from their chest. Not that Woodrow Pride had ever wished to shoot an innocent civilian for something so small, but he was blandly aware of how Sheriff's in other Areas would abuse their power. Especially when the smaller rules (not necessarily set in place by the G.E) applied differently to them. As a single Area could have covered the total land of two to three states (if not more) of the past the former U.S.A had been made up of decades before. The rules didn't seem to apply as much for a fair minority of the land, but this was the land out of bounds for coastal duty where crime didn't dare exist.

Keeping his train of thought locked upon the matter involving the other Sheriffs', Woodrow found himself wishing and hoping that he'd never turn out the way some of them had. Where every day was parallel to the next. In line and in order; just like the G.E had wanted. A terrible place where the powers of the law would draw the end of the barrel towards their souls at the sound of a pin drop, daring not to keep themselves from threatening and abusing all of those nearby. Though, to his misfortune, the future seemed rather contempt and ambiguous to him, for many of the mentioned Sheriffs' had been in their positions for years. So, in reality, it was no surprise they had turned cold -

Shaking his head, he discarded the provoking thoughts and pulled a match out of the cardboard box he had just taken out of his pocket that he now had in his hand, closing and stuffing the small holding device back into his pocket before his disruptive actions would allow the worst memories of the worst to flood into his senses. Then, contemplating the matter like a natural instinct, he lifted his foot and struck the head of the match against the sole of his golden-spurred boot, sparking the tip of the match alight in evasive flames without making an effort.

He held his hand up high as he sighed, cautiously making his way through the small lane leading up between the cells with small steps. This wouldn't be the first time a prisoner tried to break his neck by reaching through the bars of their cells if another attempt was made. Most of the criminals he came across here had already lost their sanity, though it was really no surprise that the Sheriff had no idea why. These cells were better than the ones found at Area Five, District Eleven by far, and those had been enough to turn the worst of the worst into traumatized witnesses. For they, as the rest of Society (but suffering in far worse conditions) had nothing to bind their hopes within reach and nothing to keep their dreams from crash landing when faced with reality. Nothing to live for in other words but also nothing to end life as everything of use had been stripped away from them during the time of their imprisonment and everything the cell provided when to no use either. It was possible to use the cell itself to an advantage though, but exhaustion would always become too much for them and the excruciating pain was far more painful than they could've predicted. Hands would also be useful as well, but one can only suffocate their self for so long before losing consciousness. And some had even come to learn this to hand…

These prisoners were only trapped in this facility, and most at Area Five, District Eleven were awaiting death. Most others would be driven insane by the petrifying fear of demise and a large majority of this representational figure would try their luck at cutting their sentence short themselves. That is, if they hadn't been brain damaged by the own impairments caused by their hands first.

Forcing the mental battle within himself away and into the dampening shadows the Sheriff shook his head again, demolishing the conflicting thoughts completely as he prudently examined the cells either side of him. There were sixteen cells at this end of the station, where the more vivid prisoners were held. The other end (the southern ward) held a total of thirty-seven prisoners in twenty cells. The prisoners, of course, didn't derive from this town alone, as this town was most likely the smallest in the district. But instead came from other Areas as well, with several of them even being sent from a selected few districts in Area Five. In total, fifty-one prisoners had been held in this station ninety-six hours prior. Now - well - there were forty-five; since Dead Ends were only ever prisoners for so long.

Eight prisoners now remained in the inferior ward, and the Sheriff was keeping the extra eye out for each and every one of them as he carefully made his way through the single aisle. No Dead Ends remained alive in this station this day; though by today's standards the G.E had been particularly soft on these prisoners as the trials had all been local. For these criminals had been found responsible for committing a mass range of crimes of all sorts, though none had necessarily been as serious as murdering an important member of this community.

The most serious one of the lot, his name scentless to the Sheriff, had been found guilty of slaughtering his son with a knife across the throat for a larger share in the grains his eldest son had smuggled from the local market (which had been no more than a worn table in the midst of a tattered street with the deepening winds blowing over a sly mask of darkness by manipulating the poison-like pollution formed from the ashes of the national air-raids and the desperate use of all the fossil fuels the world could find) out of mere desperation. But, after Woodrow had contacted a member of the General Escorts (of which there were hundreds) to see what should be done with this individual, the G.E inclined him to simply hold the prisoner up and let him rot in the cell rather than having to waste the bullet. Though many weren't as fortunate as this individual had been, because it often depended on whether the G.E had patience enough to deal with another body.

For many others though, this wouldn't be the case and any criminal caught in Area Five, District Eleven was almost guaranteed to lose their life, as many had come to unfaithfully find out. Sometimes, the crimes would sicken the Sheriff to the absolute core, though desperation was not something unheard of. Woodrow Pride had seen much of this in his time, even before he had been handed the position as an officer of the law.

He had been wandering through the streets of the Districts in Area Four where he had once lived at the time when he had seen the many occurrences. A criminal would turn insane and lash out at anyone and do anything when the harsh world and the taunting atmosphere made them desperate. And even now the Sheriff could recall one time in particular. But he dreaded to even think about this, as the prisoner had been shot on sight by the local Sheriff almost instantly.

When Woodrow had disentangled his thoughts from one another, his eyes came across a sight that sent his heart falling right into the deathly pits of pessimism, shattering instantly upon impact with the harsh reality he hated to face.

An empty cell -

…

Shaking his head in contempt, the Sheriff carefully made his way into his office with his spirits glum and his logic intolerable. Days in the station were far too depressing for his liking, and he spent the best part of every day in one. This glided all of the days into a provoking blur he found difficult to endure.

If he hadn't had his own, private room in the town's main complex, then many would have presumed that he practically lived in the remarkable structure of the Town's local station. Since Woodrow was almost never seen without having the building perched in the background, especially given the fact that the station was one of the best (if not the safest) building in this area of their District. When within the seldom space, one would try not to feel uneasy because not only was the station the most feared place in the town, but it was also the most respectable. Not a single person alive would even dare to touch it as the consequences of such an action are very well known.

This, on the contrary however, struck the Sheriff as peculiar. There were many things he couldn't understand in this world, but he didn't dare question this. For he knew that the inability to hold one's tongue could often be deadly, which was the reason behind why many remained silent. Suffering in the desolate silence the Sheriff often thought it to be, but he never questioned this either. As it was immensely difficult to turn your mind around on something that had been taken for granted for so long.

The taunting images encrypted into the back of his mind from the visit to the prison cells a few minutes prior set his thoughts ablaze, spiralling off endlessly into the empty distance. With his father having been a General Escort, he had caught sight of some ghastly images during his time; some even more horrifying than his previous encounter without a doubt to be made. But something about the sight he had met previously had inched into his senses and blinded him of all common sense. The sheer emptiness had struck him violently, reminding him of the fate of all who had gone against the law rightfully. And it had been heartbreaking - utterly shattering.

Merely glancing at the area around him as his mind became contaminated; the Sheriff allowed natural instinct to ponder through his body and initiatively began to make his way towards his desk bounded point-blank into the centre of the room. The room seemed burdened with far more activity than he wished to meet at this moment in time when he really wanted to take a breather to clear his thoughts. But he pushed the sensation aside and inhaled deeply. Not wanting to give into the rushing commotions and instead content on getting through life as it was - one where he wouldn't have himself killed if his tongue and emotions roamed too freely.

Though, his hopes were momentarily shattered when he heard the deceiving gust of a breath capacitate the area around him, deepening the air thoroughly. Startled, the Sheriff lifted his head sharply to come person to person with the bounty hunter.

Taking a step back in surprise, wide-eyed in shock, Woodrow stammered: "P-Pete-"

Having expected the Sheriff to come through that door, Pete Smith smirked. He was an elderly man dressed in worn dungarees, a red fleece shirt with a yellow bandana striped with red. On his head full of greyed-white hair, he wore the largest hat the Sheriff could recall seeing, reaching more in length rather than height, etching a comical effect upon his round figure. He looked strange to Woodrow, almost as though the elderly bounty hunter was not from this historic range, and instead seemed to be lost in the nineteenth century - or so it appealed to Pride, as his knowledge on historic time periods was vastly slim compared to his smarts. Though he wished he knew far more about the old Western times then he did, because knowing nothing about the World's past set his spirits into the dumps.

Barely taking the time to take into account the Sheriff's uneasiness, Pete stood up from where he sat hunkered at the Sheriff's desk, and his smile widened drastically.

"Well you're darn tootin' my horn there Sheriff. There me was thinking you had fallen asleep." Pete proclaimed. Woody had met this man plenty a time before, but the accent embedded into Pete's voice was far from mistakable. From what Woody had learned, Pete was a very old and wise man. Which came as no surprise given his age, because anyone passing into their late fifties could easily recall the time before the old Government had collapsed completely and, though instructed firmly not to utter anything they might regret, almost all people like Pete had a very interesting story to tell. This, for reasons aligning the obvious, contributed greatly to why the Sheriff respected the elderly man the way he did. "How about a nice ole' conversation with a great pal o'yours?"

Shaking his head, Woodrow had to decline.

"I'm sorry Pete - I mean, sir." He stammered, trying to pick the right words to form an appropriate line of dialect he could utter to the bounty hunter. "But I'm going to have to decline for now. You see - I'm awfully busy."

"Oh, sure you're not." Pete protested with great enthusiasm. Woodrow knew he had something important to say, as he didn't just let himself into his office on a daily basis. But the Sheriff could see no other way around it, as both paperwork and provoking thoughts were awfully distracting. Far too distracting maybe? Pride hadn't brought himself to figure this out as yet. "Besides, there's something I need to talk you about."

"And what's that?"

"Seems that we have a fugitive yonder in Area Eight." Pete said, his choice of words showing his surprising lack of formal logic quite finely.

"Haven't we always?" Woodrow questioned half-heartedly, making his way to the wooden cabinet perched besides the desk for a ballpoint pen. Maybe his interest would've peaked if he had time enough to listen.

"Ah yes I say so. Goes by the name of Canir Davies. Ever 'eard of him?"

"Not that I recall." The Sheriff answered, rooting around subtly for the paperwork he had to fill in. Boring as ever - yes - but absolutely essential.

"Well, I did some looking 'round of my own a while ago when searching for the criminals and his name came up in interrogations. Apparently, he had a whole stack o'em quartered back in a hidden hide-out." Pete went on to say more, but nothing struck the Sheriff as anything unusual, as many people nowadays hid criminals. Though the exact number involving Davies reached out to a further distance than Woodrow had expected.

"And I think 'she'll' know who he is as well - " Pete spoke, his previous sayings distorting Pride's train of concentration completely. "Jane's bound to."

Barely coming to terms with his own thoughts, the Sheriff became wide-eyed in shock and bewilderment. Allowing his blind instinct to lead the way, he asked:

"Which Area is he located in?"

()()()()

_A faint murmur in the distance was caught by the echoing winds of the night, sending the distinctive crackles spiralling endlessly through the cold air of the oncoming day. Bringing along the deathly aura to lumber through the endless mass of the darkness that cowered around the desolate field only enlivened by the empty presence of the sad horse who had again met nothing but the silence of the night to cherish for another night. The darkness had fallen around these parts, and now the horse had nothing of use to cling onto but hope itself. And even this was useless at times._

_The horse had come to learn that hopes would only ever reach high if possibilities of a brighter future could be seen. And he had learned this far too soon for his own good, leaving him wandering inside the empty shell his spirit had been trapped within to simply rot - nothing more to it and nothing less. He could wish, yearn and hope for water to come, but these hopes would only remain strong until the point where the possibility of ever being hydrated had been eradicated into the dust that had become inane. Just as he could hope that his owner would care enough and pull up the decency to close the gate to the field's fence at night to keep the lurking predators of the night at bay, though this hope had been obliterated long before the hopes of hydration - completely useless more or less, but not many others saw it this way._

_When hopes had fled and the dreams had hurled down towards the ground, one in the sad horse's position would only be able to sit on the ground and mope, allowing all the distresses and the mourns to seep out of their system through silent tears and inaudible whimpers. When all was lost, it was hard to see a point in living or a reason as to why facing the pain of reality was necessary. And a point behind living life was substantial if the world were to seize the hopes of any better future. Otherwise, what would be the point to living if nothing left was worth living for? Many would ask themselves of this, and so had the horse. Was Life worth living if the fates of the inhabitants had already been decided? Or was it best ending it before the superior forces of the world stripped away one's dignity? This was something else many would ask themselves, though true answer always seemed to lie far from their reach._

_As the auburn-furred horse simply perched on the rotten grass of the field with his front legs tugged beneath his chest, he couldn't help but feel as though his fate had already been decided by this point. For Life didn't even seem worth living, in spite of the fact that he wished he could be more optimistic of the world around._

_His despicable owner, Rusty, certainly hadn't been worth living for lately because he always came to the pure-hearted horse with a fresh craving to commit crimes against nature and with breath like stale liquor. The scent emitting off the ugly, cruel man was always foul and did nothing to participate in lifting the horse's spirits up. As it'd only ever remind the horse of the disgraceful owner he was stuck with._

_Not aligning the obvious by any means, the horse had considered escaping before. But he was always too weak-hearted compared to the nasty predators he had come across on many occasions and the fear of trying to engage in such a thing left the poor horse on edge. For he knew that the only possible result coming out of it all if he was caught trying to flee would either be a bullet to the chest, or a nasty beating. Unsurprisingly, he had never made his mind up on which one of these punishments he would have favoured. Death would end the torture, but the reasons behind living wouldn't ever be known to the horse if his life ended so soon. So these facts left him feeling like a rope using its last thread to keep the door leading to the worst fate closed. He had worked so hard and yet he still has to battle for his life day after day. And on from that as not all horses went to heaven, according to the twisted words of his abusive owner._

_So now all the horse could do was mope, perching itself on the rotten grass glumly as it tried to shield itself from the cold winds of the night. Not that this would ever go to any use though, as the cold could bite and he could only whimper in fear. It tried to be brave as the gentle winds whispered to him in the night, but he was far too petrified of the worst to comply with his nagging conscience. The inner devils had cowered within him and he was now feeling unnerved, cautious enlightening his senses to the area around him in fear and spite. The world around him had seemed pretty desolate that night and the only thing communicating with him was the gentle gushes of the wind, lightly drenching his spirits in pessimism as the darkness sunk into the night sky._

_A dampened sense of insecurity overwhelmed the horse and he fidgeted where he was perched. Life hadn't always been like this for him, and Jessica Jane came to realize this as she gazed at the scene from afar. Unable to move or to even make a sound as she watched the troubles of the world plague the horse, but able to hear the voice in her mind narrating the story right before her senses._

_**- Life was tough, but the horse carried on. The roots were firm, but Bullseye the horse kept chewing. The air was cold, but the horse still plucked up the courage to shield himself from the rain. -** The voice spoke to her mildly, enlightening her attention as he watched the horse from afar. His ribs protruded against his chest sickeningly, making Jessie feel like upchucking when she had nothing left in her stomach to do so - or even a stomach, since she had no physical form to represent herself at this moment; just the ability to see, hear and to think. Not that she would have wanted to think in this situation to begin with, for it would only shatter her heart as the form before her only reminded her of her younger brother who was far sicker than she could have imagined. The horse was scrawny, just like he was. It was drowning in sorrows, as was he and his life had slipped down the drain when the traumatizing days had lured him deeper into their depths, just like her brother Bullseye. And, ultimately, the sad horse was sad and silent. Needless to say, her brother also matched these uncalled qualities and there was not a single question about it._

_The horse seemed sad; Jessie had been able to pick this up now as she gazed at him from a distance. She didn't know whether she had been lost in her thoughts or in a trance - or in both as often was the case - but something foreign to her began to settle on her senses and she suddenly felt afraid. The horse was so sad, and no one was there to help it through the tough times. This really tugged at her heartstring, and Jessica abruptly found herself feeling ashamed. Ashamed of whom she was and sickened by who she had become. Why hadn't she helped the horse? Why had she allowed him to suffer when it had been so obvious that he'd been dying inside? She wondered this as her spirits dampened. Why had she gone off in pursue for the hunter's only living son to retrieve the help she felt she had needed as well as the things she'd never needed when the horse was calling - screaming - out for help? Why was she so sick and cruel when she should have been welcoming and caring? This was the thought that sent her nerves ablaze in despair._

_The evil spirits of the night had already settled in the area by this moment, perching in the horse and resting over her allegorical shoulders._

_-** Bullseye the horse had tried so hard to keep his spirits from falling, but in the end the worst prevailed. The evil of the world overpowered all good and the silence fell over the unspoken words. -**_

_As though on cue, the haunting voice brought along a strangled whimper from the horse; one filled with pain and the melancholy of all the years worth wasted. Twisted lies entangled with the desolation of the days faced alone in the new world. Of course, he had never been physically alone, as his slightly overweight owner always took him out into the woods. But no one kept him company when the worst times were faced. And he was alone. Sad and unable to speak out for himself. That was the worst fate he could have met, and Jessie saw this as obvious though there was nothing she could do to help the horse in his time of need._

_Dark spirits suffocated the horse's inner will, and the horse suddenly felt useless. All of the days he spent alone, he had been taken advantage of. And if he wasn't, then he met the end of the leather whip instantaneously. He knew that life could get better than this if the bad forces in the world were taken care of, since he had lived life for a while without being in the foul man's ownership and by far had those years been the best ones of his life. Even if he hadn't been aware of it prior to his torture. But many would take the good for granted, as the majority of the human's he knew did as well. Rusty may be the foulest of the disgusting, but he didn't live life alone, as Bullseye the horse had come to learn over the years. There was the hunter's wife, who 'looked after' the land and the animals they owned. And then there were the four sons'. Two of which, however, had died in a tragic hunting accident four years or so prior to this day. Apparently so, the two had been too narrow-minded to manoeuvre their minds around cocking and reloading a shut gun and they had been directly facing one another when doing so, meaning that the loaded shotguns had pumped a bullet into the other's chest within the matter of a mere moment. Yes - a very tragic accident indeed. As for the other two though - well - they were almost as foul as their father. But rather just brainwashed than plain evil, as no one would know anything more than the mere skills of being able to hunt if brought up in that kind of environment, as the horse had also come to know. And as Jessie had come to fatefully pinpoint now as she glumly eyed the sad horse from where she was positioned._

**_-And then, to silence the unspoken words, the evil spirits of the world had taken over the land and the people that ran it. Making the horse suffer day after day until the Spirits of the Night crept towards their new target… The only innocent one left of them all. And then, all was lost… -_**

_That was it. How couldn't she have remembered this from the story of Bullseye the Sad Horse? It was one her mother never stopped reading to her, as she had believed it would have taught Jessie of the many evils in the world that were lurking out there, right under their noses. Just ready to pounce on them at the time of weakness. Her mother had taught her to do all she can to renounce these evils into the shadows, to scald at them and offer good all she can. For the bad spirits of the world didn't give a damn about who they hurt, as they only did what they had been designed to do: Burn. Burn all they can and freaking make as many innocent suffer as it could physically allow._

_For as long as Jessie could possible remember, the world had been faulty, The poorest of the rich had been made useless, the poorest of the poor had died out long before only to be replaced by the next generation of scavengers, the richest of the wealthy were respected and those who shouldn't be able to make it through life didn't. As many unfortunate souls had come to learn, this was now how the world worked. The rich were taking for granted, and the poor lost everything before such a thing could happen. The world, as far as Jessie knew, had been spiralling out of control even before her mother's time; the rich lived, hiding their fear in this new world, and the poorest suffered with no fears other than Death itself. As fears can be overridden after a while, and all fears apart from demise itself were forgotten after a while. Just as the horse had also come to learn in the world where he suffered and where the humans flourished in excellence._

_Burn. The Evils of the World were meant to cause fire, and fire was ruthless once it was set off its leash. It was created to do what it was supposed to do, just as the evils were supposed to do. Fire was supposed to cause death and destruction, just as the evils of the world had caused. Just as the humans had destroyed this innocent horse inside. He hadn't done anything wrong, but the humans didn't seem to care. As they had only been created to do what they were supposed to do, and this was to hunt and take advantage of anything they could. Simple as really, though Jessie hoped that it wouldn't be. The knowledge simply set her on edge._

_The book she had read hadn't been a half hearted one, as Jessie had come to unfaithfully learn. The moral it had in mind had been a strong one; one maybe not entirely necessary for children of that age. But it made a greater impact upon her childhood than she could have simply remembered. Just like how she'd forgotten about the inspiration for her brother's nickname. Bullseye had reminded her of the horse without her even realizing. Both were unable to speak and had no chance of calling out for help. Even the eyes of the horse seemed to shine in her brother, reflecting the same melancholy Jessie had come to loathe the look of._

_Though she was aware of the fact that Bullseye was far sicker than she could've imagined, she didn't fully understand the reason behind his withdrawal, as she also didn't with the horse. Why would the horse wander around an empty field aimlessly, moping in misery, when he could escape into the world and simply just run? She couldn't be taken wrong, as she knew that exhaustion would have to be taken into account. But this was something that had always troubled her as a child though she hadn't been sure why. The sad horse she saw now seemed to be everything in her brother. The same eyes broke her heart and the same expression shattered her spirits into a thousand pieces. Even when they had once been happy, Bullseye had been withdrawn from the world slightly. Lost in the torturous charades his mind would create to lessen the pain and to force the smile upon his face when called for, where his senses would wander and his soul would flourish in some force unknown to him. Even at four years old he had been unable to mutter a simple word, and this was when Jessie saw something serious etched deep within him, worrying her slightly. Any normal child should at least be able to make basic communication with the rest of the world at that age, right? At two years of age, as he had been when the whole world around him seemed to crack indefinitely, he had showed basic understanding of the English language, but had made no attempt to babble a simple word, surprisingly. And when he tried to communicate with facial expression alone, he ended up showing the same words the previous speaker had just spoken._

_Even in this trance Jessie was fully aware of her past, and even now she could clearly remember the few times they had been in her cell at Area Five, District Eleven. One of the specific times she could remember better than the others, and she could recall asking Bullseye how he was for one reason or another one day only to have him ask her the same question with his eyes. At that moment, as Jessie could remember now, she had gasped and pulled the child close to her chest fearing that the world would take him away from her eventually._

_It was all apart of the learning process; she had tried to tell herself. He had been far too traumatized to speak so, for this reason, he was trying to communicate with expression rather than words. Whether this theory had been correct or not, Jessie didn't really want to find out. As she knew that finding the answer out could pinpoint just exactly how sick he was._

_Maybe the horse had been torn away from the life forms he had once grown to love? Jessie eventually asked as she gazed at the horse from afar. Maybe he was really sad over the fact that he wouldn't ever see the one's he loved again rather than the torture he was being forced through? She eventually considered this, but this was only until the words of the children's book shot through her mind again when the Spirits of the Night spoke to the horse; poisoning his mind._

_**-And he was stolen.**-_

_Then, as though set perfectly on cue, she heard a screech in the distance and the horse simply lifted her head to look at her oddly. His stare cold and sad, but his eyes scarlet._

**'The words of the wise have corrupted your mind, fair child.**_' Something else eerie and distant spoke, enlightening her nerves in terror. _**'And this corruption is contaminated.'**

_Before she even had the slightest chance of being able to make sense of the world around her, the screeching of a radio's static could be heard; disrupting the minds and the logic of all minds around in an instant. The information was toxic and led others on to trust things they shouldn't. But Jessica struggled to pay any attention to it as the grains of the world began to slip out of the picture, falling apart…_

Jessica woke with a start when the images in her mind dissolved into reality. Her heart dropped in her chest and her breath froze in place when her eyes met the glum surroundings around her and she suddenly felt terrified.

Not taking the time to think as the fear crept into her system, she cradled her brother closer to her body protectively, swearing to herself that she'd never let go inaudibly as she did so.

It all became clear to her at that very moment. They had to leave, and they had to leave _soon_.


	7. The Meaning of the Image

_**Chapter Six  
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"No way!" The Sheriff suddenly proclaimed in half-hearted admiration, the humour etched within Pete's sudden exclamation catching him off guard. His spirits that morning were unusually high, even sustaining to that level after entering the station only to be faced with the exterior surroundings of the aching depression usually emitted off the irrational Society around him. Not that he didn't appreciate it, because he sure as heck did. If proven necessary, he'd search every corner to find the one spark of hope to enlighten his senses, ultimately lifting them up high into the sky and past the deceiving pollution that left the world riddled.

If the choice had been his, then the Sheriff most likely wouldn't have chosen this path in life, Woodrow eventually came to ponder over. If the decision had been left to him to make instead of the higher powers of the country, then this station wouldn't have been his work-place of choice. Actually, when it came right down to it, he was sure of this. Just as Woodrow Pride was absolutely certain that Pete Smith wouldn't have led his own path in life the way the insular forces of the world had. Pete, inside, wasn't the kind of man who had been born as who he had been forced to be, and the Sheriff was most certainly aware of this.

Lying, deceiving and engaging in unspeakable acts to fulfil the unwanted job. Woodrow knew Pete hated his job down to the very core. Though the fact was hard to pick out of Pete's expression sometimes when the dull days caving down in on the world, darkening all rims of hope down into the ashes of the unperceivable stirs in the wind, made him optimistic, Woody could quite easily tell that this was not what Pete wanted in life. It could just be a small stutter in his words at times, or the faint twitch in his facial expression at others, but the truth always rested beyond Smith's set morals. That, to the Sheriff, was easy to tell. Almost as though something in the last few years had cleaned his perspective on life completely. Leaving it bare and vulnerable to pick up a fair majority of the faulty aspects of the world; the naked flame against fuel, with only the onset of the final spark left to go before the flame ignited into a burst of energy so much more powerful than the narrow-minded eyes could have ever foreseen. Because most didn't see the impact this world had on others, and instead tended to focus on themselves. Well - this was how the Sheriff saw it at least, no matter how arrogant his theory may have been. For the surroundings had compacted the brilliant minds of the world into the narrow sources of thought Woodrow had stumbled across far too often in his years.

So for this reason and this reason exactly, the Sheriff found the need to discard all of the bad aspects of his life away for the moment to focus on matters that wouldn't send his spirits falling down into the land of the unknown, where the lurking presences of ghastly forms haunted his senses and troubled his mind. Almost like the Spirits of the Night taunting him endlessly, simply waiting for him to let his guard down for that single moment before washing over him for the last-second kill. Well - it seemed like this to the Sheriff at least, though the processes and the happenings behind spiritual matters just happened to be the last thing on his mind at this very moment in time; unless his subconscious happened to be far more influential than Pride had originally predicted, in which case a part of him wouldn't know what to do. This, as proven, was exactly why the Sheriff wanted to push the provoking aspects of the world away from him for this one brief moment. As coming across someone who'd lift the problems away permanently was something of a foreign bearing to him, for he had never heard of it.

"You can't be scratching the head of the needle with that there, Pete." Woodrow stated lightly, daring not to say something he might regret in the presence of the elderly individual before him. Despite the fact that Smith would often hold the head full of hot air, Pride knew far better than to talk back to an elder, as the wrong word at the wrong time can lead to a sentence - or, often in the worst case scenario, even death at times. In truth, the Sheriff was aware of the fact that Pete wouldn't set charges in place for something so incredulous in comparison to the more serious offenders the two of them had come across. But it was just habit and instinct playing more of an effect over the Sheriff's attitude more than anything else, as Woodrow had grown up in the hands of a General Escort. So manners were only natural, showing respect was absolutely vital, and knowing better than to break the law was compulsory. Though, even though he should know where a majority of the people in life should stand, he often had troubles trying to form the plot of a story up by simply glancing at the cover of a book. Yes - a picture may be worth a thousand words but, in reality, there was so much more behind it all than that simple illustration. For, as the Sheriff had come to discover, looking at someone's appearance wouldn't even tell half the story, as discriminating someone for who they really were often wasn't enough. Sometimes, when someone looks poor, all it takes is to actually study their appearance by checking the empty pockets to fully justify a conclusion.

This, of course, applied to many of the prisoners Woodrow had come across during his time. As in certain situations, someone may seem absolutely brutal merely from glancing at the scars on their face. But then a thorough investigation would reveal that the individual had been abused mercilessly as a child. These facts would often trouble Pride, but only seemed to strike other Sheriffs' as completely natural. Leading him, of course, to battling viciously with himself to try and keep himself secure as the haunting experiences drew his soul over to the troubling pits, keeping himself in line when he felt as though he was simply on the verge of losing it all.

"You can bless the holy Tarnation I'm right, Sheriff." Pete proclaimed enthusiastically, over-exaggerating his facial movements as usual when telling Pride the high-lighted moment in his life. Shadowing the darkness itself with absolute elation, he went onto add: "One spark from his ole' cigarette and then - BOOM!" Pete mimicked his facial expression by tossing his arms up into the air. Though feeling quite disheartened inside, Woodrow couldn't help but chuckle aimlessly at Pete's hyper-active mood. "The blast must've sent the Texas 'igh birds blowing out a lil' cloudy wind in alarm that day."

Leaning on the door of his office with sagging shoulders, Woody rolled his eyes at Pete's words, daring not to question what the term 'Texas' actually meant - mostly due to the fact that Pete could pull many things out of the stack of gold with his words; some even unwanted. Even from the first time he had met the bounty hospital, eighteen months before, the Sheriff had barely been able to understand half of what Smith said through his dialect; though his facial expressions were often enough to tell tales of a thousand words. The stories Pete told Woody were often extraordinary, even if the Sheriff did have difficultly in trying to decipher what the bounty hunter was trying to say. So this was mainly why the Sheriff tried his best to listen when he had time enough. Many a time a person Pete's age would have magnificent tales to tell, as some had been born either before the world had slipped completely or had been born during the early years of such a tragedy, emitting off the superior knowledge to those individuals that the Sheriff yearned to have.

Little did he know of how the conflictions of the Old Government and the public had led to the downfall of the Western World's economy and Society, and this was something he had always been very curious about as a child for G.E today told the rest of the country very little. What the lurking Long Run's had done exactly to plant their paths on the list of the country's most wanted still remained a mystery to Woodrow, but he knew that they were the only survivors of the former Government - though rumours had it that at least half of them had died due to natural causes over the last three decades, and some were likely to be true, the Sheriff thought. Even despite the fact that most didn't know exactly what the Long Runs were guilty of, those of the old generation did. And this was exactly why the Sheriff found conversations with Smith utterly fascinating, even when his senses had been torn in the midst of mayhem.

Blowing out another half-hearted chuckle, feeling his senses enlightening, Woodrow asked:

"So what happened to Thorne after that?" Woody found himself asking out of amusement, his voice slightly dazed. Andrew Thorne had always been one of the superior individuals in the world he had been curious about, as everyone knew his name for whom he stood for: The ultimate founder of the General Escorts. A man who had once lived in poverty who had grown to live up to the most important name in the country. And Pete had even known this man for who he had truly been at one age - a solemn, quiet teenager who had barely even held the voice inside him to speak out for himself. But also a man who had been carelessly foolish in the workplace, as Pete's endless torrent-full of stories went on to tell. Woodrow, for the matter, found them had to believe, but they were absolutely priceless he had to admit. For one would imagine Thorne to be now as he had been as a young adult, though these conclusions were carelessly sought through in comparison as to what they should stand for.

"Well - " Pete murmured slowly, his eyes showing delight as he formed his next saying. Showing that he cared almost nothing for Thorne now due to the previous happenings of the years prior to this day, he continued: "He had a face like jolly-branded Tar, that were for sure. And he certainly took the boot off the curb and yonder into the rodeo with that foolish act."

Woodrow rolled his eyes again at this, daring not to believe Pete's words for what they truly were as he found himself contemplating in often. His sayings sounded almost always too irrational to be true, and Pete's dialect sounded like it came from both the olden times and from children's stories which never failed to give off the light-hearted sensation on gloomy days. Though Pete wasn't one of the sorts to tell a blunt lie - he was far too modest to tell anything of the sort - Woody vied Pete's sayings as far too incredulous to be true. Especially when almost anybody with no sense of mind these days would be willing to sell out the head of the G.E for what he truly wasn't if they had a death wish coming of course. Even despite the fact that the Sheriff believes the bounty hunter cherished his own life more than that.

Straightening his posture appropriately, silently blessing the Gods that their conversation had been practically inaudible to superior ears, the Sheriff readjusted his black vest against his crimson shirt and shifted slightly. Uneasiness should have crept into his core like toxic poison, but the Sheriff found the toxic sensation easy to overlook. As humour of the right kind was like nectar in this deformed world and was very hard to come across, almost like trying to find the pebble among the shards nestled on the Ocean's waterbed. Black humour, however, had been heard of, but Woodrow became disheartened at this thought, for watching a Dead End die (which was a perfectly reasonable example when this kind of atmosphere coursed through the world) wasn't humorous in the slightest. It was deeply upsetting actually in the Sheriff's view. So he merely shrugged the malevolent feeling off and chuckled slightly again. His gesture was weak, but strong enough to get by Smith.

"You have to be pulling my leg there, Pete."

Grinning ecstatically, Pete shifted and shook his head, trying to hold in another fit of laughter as best as he could. No - he wasn't lying, Woody came to realize. Meaning that Pete's tale was absolutely side-splitting. Though hard to believe as coming across an individual who had even uttered a word in Thorne's presence was rare, there was no misinterpreting Pete's expression.

"I ain't pulling a Dandy, Sheriff." Pete claimed simply, the tone in his voice obviously showing that it was the truth he was telling and not a straight lie out of his backside. "He had worked for me back in the South when I used to work for the mine in the south."

Accepting Pete's tale as the truth had been pretty tricky for Woody, but he eventually had no choice other than to do so when he clearly saw that there was no way he was lying, though he eventually came over to the appropriate knowledge soon than he had expected. When he eventually accepted the tale though, Woodrow smirked wildly.

"So you're telling me that Thorne used to be an autistic Prospector?" Woodrow asked with a tone full of half-hearted disbelief. The story Pete was telling him was most definitely playing with the rules - too far when a G.E could hear, and they could both wind up in serious trouble - but it was far too amusing to let it slip by so quickly. For a day was not lived until one's senses had awoken to the limelight, as Woodrow had come to learn extremely well.

"Nah ah," Pete murmured slowly, opposing Woodrow's theory indefinitely with a large grin coursing over his facial structure. "He wasn't a Prospector, Sheriff; he was just a young miner with a head like a rusty barrel." He paused slightly, waiting to see if Woody's own expression would alter. The smile upon his face widened slightly, and Pete felt a superior sense of satisfaction course through him because of it. "He had chucked his cigarette down one day, and the whole place nearly brewed sulphuric dynamite. He may have had trouble communicating, ol' Sheriff, but people say that he there was cursed with the soul of the devil for what he did to our country." Pete commented suddenly, dramatically emphasising what he was saying by the turn of his expression. "I say that they're right at times, for the chap must have had Satan tossed into him to do what he did. Quiet and secretive until the very day he decided to recruit half a hundred men to each recruit more. And then more. Golly, it was no wonder they took over after nuclear holocaust of o'seventeen."

Arching an eyebrow in bewilderment, Woody asked: "Nuclear holocaust?" The term to him sounded foreign, but he managed to come across the fact that it was deathly important after Pete uttered those words aloud.

"Oh yes," Pete stated, daring not to come across that he was about to enter hot water. "The darn event were pretty much the natural disaster of the century. Nuclear devices were being held in Eastern Europe when the Earthquake struck. As soon as they touched the ground, the whole place was sent bellowing with radiation. Took a good while for the U.S to come to terms with the worst though. Eight years later was when people started to take action for their own horses." Pete said blankly, before deciding to add: "With Europe and plenty of Asia suffering the consequences of the disaster, the U.S began to fall in their own ways."

Blinking hard several times, the Sheriff wasn't sure what to believe. He hadn't known about any of this the day before and he was frankly surprised over the fact that he was being told.

"And you remember all of this?"

"You're darn right I do." Pete proclaimed honestly. "I was only a man of twenty-three years of age at the time all hell broke loose. Tarnation, I remember when States used to make up the country."

Woodrow's expression flickered briefly, and he would have kept on this subject if a certain thought hadn't struck him. He didn't know what it had been, but an instinct had brought an aspect forward in his mind and he had naturally been curious of it.

"You know these 'Long Run's'?" He asked discreetly, being precautious to make sure his voice wasn't heard outside of his office. "Did they cause the nuclear holocaust?"

It wasn't an unexpected question, but almost no one uttered the term to one another in person, which was what almost caught Smith off guard before he straightened his posture. "Not exactly. But they sure did screw the country up when sending 'our' resources down to the countries in the East." Pete paused slightly, before coming up with his own question to ask the Sheriff. Not as unusual as Woodrow's, but definitely enough to catch him off guard. "What made you ask that, boy?"

When being asked this question, the Sheriff suddenly froze in place. The natural sense of disbelief crested within him had abruptly taken over his senses, and he found himself unable to move as he stammered a simple phrase.

"I-I don't know." He answered simply. Though he didn't know why, he briefly feared that his question had hauled him straight over onto unwanted territory. Natural instinct brought the Sheriff forward to changing the subject of the conversation, and Pete had been grateful for this. "Have you gotten any further with finding where this 'Canir Davies' is located?"

"Well, I've done a little, Sheriff." Smith stated simply, his voice wavering off into the distance. "But I don't have a knack or this like when I was working as a Prospector. "I'm currently trying to find out where on Earth he could be hiding in Area Eight."

Beginning to feel slightly uneasy, Woodrow's mind suddenly blanked for a moment in thought. In no way could he possibly hear what he was even thinking, but it often made him feel secure at times, because no one could brand him for his thoughts as they couldn't be read on a whim. Pete managed to overlook this gesture for a few moments until the younger man opened his eyes, bringing forward yet another question that had been troubling him endlessly for the last ten hours.

"Do you really think she's hiding there as well, Pete?"

The question Pride asked was reasonable enough, Pete came to realize. But an unnatural sensation tugged at his logic at the Sheriff's words, catching him slightly off guard as he pondered over this thought briefly. In the corner of his mind, the same knowledge he had come to more than a year before began settling into focus. And the conclusion he came to because of this was irrational, but certainly not uncalled for. As Woodrow had even admitted it to Pete before. Maybe not in the way Woody had realized, but definitely in a way Pete had been able to pull out this conclusion from. As Woody never really had the poker face to conceal his true emotions at times, for he occasional forgot to make sure he had it embedded into his facial features when leaving his room in the morning.

Pausing in though, Pete tried to word what he was about to say in his mind first to ensure that he wouldn't accidentally 'let the obvious' slip from his tongue. Allowing a few moments to slide by like the words of the winds, Pete said: "I reckon the Rooster nested the egg on that Sheriff; there ain't anyway of finding out for sure, and anything I find might only lead to contagious treasures. Ain't no barrel of gold for definite here."

With this said the expression on Woodrow's face faltered slightly. The action had been unconsciously made - yes - but even this minor twitch in the Sheriff's expression was enough to make the bounty hunter question the ambiguous. Settling softly within the core of his subconscious, a sense of curiosity overtook Smith, and he found himself unable to contain it any further.

"You ain't still falling head over heels for that Dead End anymore, are you Sheriff?" Pete questioned carefully, his tone direct and formal unlike the usual. He had expected nothing more than an instant protest on the Sheriff's part, but denial was not something that came Pete's way. As soon as he had uttered these words, he had been able to pull out the truth from within them.

Instead of the protest Pete had half-expected, the muscles within Woody's facial structure froze completely as his breath stiffened his throat. The looks in his eyes deafened Pete's senses momentarily, and the old Prospector was struck with the very realization that he had pulled on a foreign string. His previous saying hadn't been meant as anything serious, for the concern had shown itself to him on a sarcastic whim. But now that he had actually pulled the grain of sand out of the water, Pete didn't know what to do about it. Of course, he had known that the girl had 'meant' something to the Sheriff at least a year ago, but in no way had he known the feelings had been long-lasting. For it was dangerous having feelings and devotions entangled with someone like Jane, who was now a Dead End of one of the worst kinds. Not only did her blood deceive her and the rest of the country, but her actions had shattered the hour-glass. It was a simple mixture Treason and Blood in the end, but the simplicity can be broken down in her mind to form complex charades. Unnecessary games formed by her inheritance and her doings that just didn't know when to stop. And the Sheriff had meddled with this in the most serious of ways, actually getting himself involved with someone who could get him killed if he decided to trust the wrong person, and he had trusted her of course. This had been obvious to Pete.

Losing himself in his own thoughts, Woody slurred: "I-I…" Eventually coming to realize that he had been lost in an intoxicating trance, the Sheriff shook his head and blinked in disbelief. "I mean - no. Of course not."

The Sheriff should have known this by now, that his words wouldn't have gotten past Smith. But common instinct seemed to be a minor priority in his perspective. Never to be taken into account unless it really was important.

Letting out a long sigh, Pete said: "Sheriff, she may have a pretty face. But don't let that get you fit for courting."

Shaking his head again in pure bewilderment, Woodrow straightened his posture and gaped at Pete in shock. Though he knew, deep down, that Pete's words were of the complete truth, he didn't want to admit this aloud. For he had kept them hidden long enough to build a record; one record Woody didn't want to let slip.

"W-what are you on about?" He asked, his tone rather blunt and concise. Of course Pete knew what he was on about; he always did - even if it, theoretically, didn't make any sense whatsoever to others. At that, Woody felt his cheeks heat up slightly. There was no denying the fact that he had fallen 'head over heels' for her in the slightest. She had been something all right - amazing actually, but he didn't want to admit this aloud either. But in no way did he want to haul his thoughts over to this matter now, for he would only embarrass himself even further.

"Come on, Woody. You know it ain't gonna lead you to any good. It'll get you shot if you're not careful."

Experiencing a turn in thought, Woodrow let out a long sigh.

"I know, I know." He beckoned, trying to get his point across before Pete started questioning further. "You don't have to tell me twice."

Wanting to change to subject quickly, the Sheriff lowered his gaze and racked his mind endlessly. It was obvious enough what he was trying to do, but he just had to hope that it'd be enough to get past Pete.

"Say, did you claim Davies was located in Area Eight?"

…

A few hours after Jessie had awoke from her peculiar trance, the sun gracefully descended upon the Earth through the thick clouds of pollution, eventually coming to settle in its position in the morning sky. The sly cracks of sunlight breaking through the masked skies looming above, full of dust and contaminated with gases emitted from the desperate use of the only remaining fossil fuels, brought the young woman back to her senses and her eyes lingered upon the area around her, taking everything in almost as if in surprise. The sunlight played almost no effect upon the world these days, as it could barely be seen through the heavy dust of the skies, but the different between night and day was audible enough to decipher, so her senses only deepened when catching sight of the change in the atmosphere as she knew that waiting any longer would only lead them into further trouble.

Even despite the fact she had awoken only a few hours before, she still hadn't woken mentally yet, so her moves were groggy as she examined the area around them faintly in the search for any of their belongings she might've misplaced. The radio was almost definitely corrupted by now, so trying to gather that along with the rest of her items would be a waste of strength and she had made the rain bucket useless the night before, so trying to be careful with that would also prove to be unnecessary as well.

Her senses awakening harshly to the atmosphere around her, she abruptly became alert. A ghastly gust of wind against her face urged her nerves forward, and she suddenly became determined as she brushed the feelings of uneasiness aside. Common instinct tried to force the recollection of her previous slumber's dream away and into the back of her mind where they truly belonged, but every so often she'd sense the ghastly presence of her lurking thoughts creeping towards the core of her mind, and she'd have to shake her head and inhale deeply just to force them away.

At her side, her brother still hadn't awoken and she felt a sense of doubt cower within her when she caught sight of his sleeping form. They'd be moving soon and Jessie had no choice about it, as failing to comply with her nagging conscience could result in dastardly consequences. And it didn't take a keen interest in psychology for Jessie to come to terms with the fact that a lack of sleep would only mess with Bullseye's senses, which was mainly the reason why she hated waking him up. But a stronger torrent of logic coursing through her mind told her that the only option she'd take would be absolutely compulsory, though she severely regretted it.

Sighing heavily, she drew her arms away from him and inhaled deeply, trying to settle her senses down in the way she wished she were able to more often. It would all be worth it in the end, she tried to tell herself. This was the one thought that had kept her battling through the days she had been faced with. The depression, and the longing feelings of certain affection towards the one person in life she felt she had a connection with who could just very well shoot her at first sight - it all tolled up on her, but she liked to believe that it was all worth it. As the single thought was hopefully strong enough to guide her and Bullseye towards their final target. It wavered frequently and each flicker in the static made her heart skip a beat. For hoping for the best was the only thing that kept her spirits strong enough to compete with the vigorous battles. If it faded completely, disintegrating into the winds like ash, she didn't know what she'd do. As all hope would be lost from that point, she had come to realize. She told herself on and on in the attempt to keep her spirits firm that all the torture would eventually be worth it; that it would lead to a happier life where she and Bullseye had settled down somewhere safe where everything vital was provided for them, permanently. This was the thought that kept her mind on spur, lifting up her dampened soul during the worst of times.

Keeping this thought firmly embedded into the back of her mind, Jessie allowed it to carry her through the next few minutes as she gathered their items together and prepared herself for the day that lay ahead. If trouble should arise, then the gun currently in her rucksack now should be enough, though she honestly wasn't sure if she was prepared to do 'that'.  
>Inhaling deeply, Jessie forced the thoughts of optimism to rise up within her and held her breath until it stung her chest. Letting it go, she felt her senses peak in vigilance<p>

()()()()

Gasping in shock a few hours after taking off in the direction of Area Seven, Jessica gasped in shock. On their course towards the Sheriff, common instinct had reminded Jessie that they needed more than they had on them to survive the journey, and she had cursed to herself inaudibly in frustration when she had come to this realization For one could only travel so far with so much energy before becoming exhausted, she had unfaithfully come to learn. So on their path towards the seldom hospitalisation she and her brother needed to survive, Jessie had kept an eye out for any run down stores they may have been of any use to them.

The sight around their path had been beaten over the years, and this section of Area Nine had remained desolate with no activity bar from the occasional scavenger for years. The surroundings were grim from the lingering darkness overshadowing the light of the day, and the surviving buildings had been battered beyond a state of repair. Some patches of land had been destroyed completely due to the occasional air raids, all set perfectly in place by the General Escorts as a threat to remind Society that hiding any kind of fugitive was a felony, and debris was scattered all throughout the area around her, making the ghastly presence lurking through the air a finer edge to its form.

Air raids roamed more frequently in the North of the country than anywhere else, Jessica had come to learn to hand, so going anywhere beyond the point of Area 10 was dangerous for everyone who dared to cross further. The majority of the population had been forcefully settled down near the south where it was ultimately safer to live, where streets were more convenient to cross and where the rest of the Long Runs were presumably far away from the main territory. Jessica presumed that more of the population had settled down towards the south because the General Escorts believed the Long Runs were discreetly hiding up North. From what Jessica knew, the North of the country was far safer for them than the rest of the country because the G.E had control of far less line past the Northern border than they did past the south. So the chances of survival were much thicker up there than anywhere else.

When the General Escorts had taken power of the country over four decades before, many had been precautious of their power for one reason or another. Some were convinced that the power would go to waste and that the old Government would overthrow the G.E and take power of Society again, whilst others believed that the power would be taken advantage of either for the good of the country or for - well - the sake of themselves. Though only a small minority of the population had been convinced that the General Escorts had been up to no good, the G.E had made sure that everyone knew where they stood. For letting the words of truth slip would be hazardous both to the communities and the raging forces of the country if strong enough, leading to chaos among millions, possibly billions depending on how the words coursed through the world. This had been something they couldn't afford, as it only took a handful of weaponry providers and a few determined individuals to overrule them when things got out of hand. And the General Escorts had come to terms with this fact the most. One word passing through unknown territory could act as the flutter of a Butterfly's wing, causing chaos and destruction a thousand miles away from the focus of the core. The G.E had been unable to allow this to happen, and used their powers and resources to their advantage; sending in recruited teams to take control of many of the countries in Southern America by force, getting as far as Paraguay before coming to realize that the message had been received by the rest of the countries of the south, meaning that they knew their place.

All it took was one foul mouth to destroy everything they had built within the matter of a few mere seconds - one strong word and everything they had worked on getting would go to waste. Absolutely useless. They were wanting to avoid this, which is exactly why they were also wanting to obliterate all and every Long Run before someone else went on to listen to their ambiguous morals. As the nuclear holocaust of o'seventeen in Eastern Europe hadn't been entirely their fault, others had convinced themselves. For one was only as narrow-minded as they had been brought up to be.

To reduce the chances of any Long Run's surviving the treacherous days that engulfed Society by the very roots, the G.E sent the air raids towering through the upper Area's of the country, dropping malevolent warnings all around to remind the civilians of their place and in hopes of killing off - or seriously injuring, it didn't really matter in their opinion as infection played a lot these days - any of the surviving Long Run's that they just so happened hadn't brought in to the authorities yet. Whether or not there were any left, the General Escorts had no clue. Out of the six despicable individuals the G.E hadn't ordered the execution of, they had no idea how many of those men were still breathing in their air. If any had survived, then it was all the more better to increase their ultimate satisfaction. But if their air raids had been successful, then this would reduce the chances of the public going absolutely berserk.

Though Jessica was now trying to find an old department store from the early ages of the twenty-first century to loot, she had been able to take in the ghastly surroundings around her when passing through the cobbled streets that had been impaired by the dwindling burdens of absolute devastation. Even in Areas' further to the south of the country, occasional air raids still lingered through the nights of oncoming days. As long as all members of the General Escorts were tucked safely away from the midst of mayhem, then the G.E didn't really care who was hurt or who was hurt in the ambushes. Besides, to add insult to the country's fresh wound, the population was far too high anyway. So a few innocent lost didn't really tug at their heartstrings as such. As long as the pot was full of the sweet honey of the best make by the end of the day, then they really didn't care how many Hornets' lost their stingers. Personally, they had found that the world worked better that way. However, in Jessica's opinion, the entire process of self-fortune on their behalf was sickening.

The air raids weren't the only horrible aspects the country faced now though, as sickness was almost incurable in most situations and the path towards being cured was most definitely difficult. Just as her aim to finding an old store she could loot out of would prove to be unsuccessful. Though unaware of this at this moment, a sound in the distance brought her back to her senses. And her theory was concluded when her brother stiffened in his place at the sight. The wind stirred the air around them both, and Jessie suddenly found herself feeling very on-edge.

Solemn echoes in her mind told her only one thing. And this was as terrifying as any other thought: Danger was approaching for them both. She could feel it coming in the enlivened winds sending her a warning, telling her to expect the worst of the situation as a spiritual sense inside her shifted.

For the sound of jet engines coursing towards them in the distance, masked by the contaminated pollution lingering through the sky, would only ever mean one thing -


	8. The Amateur in Disguise

_**Chapter Seven  
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Only by a natural hunch did Canir Davies sense the mortality coursing through the ripples of the air's currents at that time on that day. Making him turn his head in the direction of the only window in this room he had settled himself in for this morning to escape the claustrophobia he had been subjected to within the mass of the dozens cowered in the main room of the shelter below his feet. Next to nothing his logic stood compared to the rest of him as his insides crept in anticipation.

Archaic beliefs still lingered through him until this day and age; for he had been one of the last to give in to the power of the General Escorts as well as one of the first to discreetly rebel. So the sense drifting through his mind didn't strike him as foreign whatsoever as he edged himself to the rim of his seat. He had been sorting through his own belongings when he had heard the quivering static in the distance, catching his senses full-on almost instantly. Little had he heard of the sound, but it was more than enough for him to question the environment around them as though he had been a foreigner in a stranger's country.

Death coursed through the air surprisingly enough, and his inner instinct told him this. For he had never been one to not make use of each word in the thousands, so every hunch and every bad sign he came across, he looked over. As making mistakes made one precautious, and he was just about as cautious as anyone could be when instinct took control.

The small room he was in was mostly bare with stone walls encasing the area around him only to make the man feel more claustrophobic, a few sheets on the floor to sleep on at night and a simple table he had carved himself out of all the wood he could find, so all sounds emitted through the single window seemed to magnify when they coursed through the air and crept inside. Making it awfully disheartening to feel the hunch he did when his inner mind offered him the dreadful knowledge he never wanted to come across.

His insides peaking in interest, the dark haired man turned where he sat and directed his gaze through the dusty piece of glass forming the window of the room and waited patiently for another sign. His heart seemed to take action against his chest and thudded violently, just daring to send him over the edge as he waited for that single sign of disturbance in the atmosphere. It was only normal for him to jump in his skins at the slightest change in the surroundings, for his senses had been mutated in such away that they picked up the smallest alterations in the atmosphere around him. A single rain drop, and he would sense that it was coming. But he still questioned this sign building up in intensity at the back of his mind, as it almost seemed too strong to not be forged, which was a very strange sensation to be lurking through him indeed as he lifted his posture as he turned his head a fraction more to the side.

He felt the changing weather in the air before by simply feeling the winds of the night brush his cheeks, but Death was something he had found troubling to believe. Gazing out of the window on the first floor of the shelter's complex, suddenly grateful that a majority of the building had been hidden underground, out and away from the sights of all wandering patrollers, his face faltered.

In the beliefs that the stirring sensation had been a figure of his imagination, he was about to turn his head to the side when he heard it again. That one change in the atmosphere that would only ever mean one thing: Danger was approaching. And fast.

Abruptly becoming alert, Canir stood up from where he sat and risked one glance around the room to examine the surroundings for the source of dangerous activity. In the line of his perception, he could tell that it was not located in the area nearby and he discovered that it was lurking through the air and not wandering the ground, for the change in the air showed more clearly when he stood.

A natural vibrancy in the air told the story, that it really was the danger he had been trying to force aside for so long. Though there was no physical way he could have prevented this when he truly brought his mind forth to this area. For it was the sword that outshined nowadays instead of the incapable pens withholding the inability to seize the set expectations.

He had grown a poor man not two decades before the General Escorts had taken control. As with many individuals from that period of time, he had a story to tell; one unlike anyone else's involving how one had grown up during the General Escorts reign of power. With the ability to recall the days where the sun had been visible in the skies that hadn't been riddled with the pollution of the scarce fossil fuels, it would have been easy for someone else to tell that he had seen the world before all decent aspects became inept where they stood. He had seen life before the darkened streets, when life had been worth living and people had been able to revel and flounder within their own freedom. And then, like all other people his age, he watched the world fall. A single, bottomless pit was all it took to destroy the zesty hopes and banish all dreams from the main land where they were effectively in reach, and he was seen this all.

Having grown up in the South of the country, he had clearly been able to recall the brighter days of the past when his mind was brought over to the unfaithful matters that had ruined everything. The ways of life had been safer and the free word could have been spoken without having to fear being overheard by those with the power to end your life. God had been a lot more patient with the world, his father had said. And how he had been right. Because one force out there - just the one - didn't seem satisfied with the way the world was, as had been proved by the sounds he could hear coursing through the air how ever far away it might be.

Canir had already been warned of the dangers the world would bring to Society, having been raised in a strictly religious family as a child. His father had been a Missionary working across the entire country when his son had been younger, branding all life and contemplations with the aide of the powers above. Harshly Christian, his father had believed that the soul was a gift of the almighty Lord and should be cleaned of all sins appropriately. Of course, his dad's father before that had also had very strong morals, but had strayed slightly away from the Christian beliefs of the world. Accounting more on the souls itself as being a source of power rather than the invisible powers lurking above, mocking the world with its unearthly presence.

Canir, however, had never felt Protestant. Even though his mother's side of the family had descended from the land of the English, his mind had always been set over the years. As relying on an unreliable force simply just to guide oneself through life without much effort put in on their part wasn't something he wanted to do when there were so many glorious aspects to see when the path had been abandoned.

Through his own beliefs, he liked to believe that he had made his senses stronger and his spirits more resistant to the workings of everyday torture. For he was able to read the essence of the surrounding atmosphere like looking at a blank page, he liked to believe that this in turn had made him stronger over the years. Though one can only doubt themselves when the world locks all the miracles of the mysteries away purely just to keep the natural curiosity in control. For it was far better than locking the orb in the sky out of view rather than have it crash land for no apparent reason, as the authorities would then have to come up with one simply just to bound the chaos on land. Lies - yes - but a single lie could twist and turn in every direction possible until it had crashed into the source of power that kept the people of the country under control. Obliterating everything of value instantly.

He had only been a child when the Nuclear Holocaust of 0'seventeen had caught the world by complete surprise when an earthquake disrupted the communities of Eastern Europe, but he could remember the event clearly. The U.S Government had been cautious about entering the effected areas, as many nuclear devices had been securely hidden away from the media and no one had known of the weapons being stored in the countries of the East. And no one would have expected it either, as the world had expected that all would have been learnt after the nuclear accident during the Chernobyl Disaster back in 1986. But the holders of the weapons hadn't. Well - they hadn't learnt the lesson until each holding of the destructive material topped over, leaving the rest of the world to watch in horror as all area around tore itself apart. The results were far more disastrous than anyone else could have predicted.

By the time the rest of the world had been plagued by the disaster, Canir's father had far since been convinced that the event had been a penalty from the almighty power above to punish the people of Earth for the sins they had committed. The Lord had lost his patience through the endless torture of watching the disgraceful acts against Nature, he had said. Using that single stone to deem all that lay within area of the source of dangerous acts doomed, would be another decent way to put it. And oh how this had been exactly correct. It troubled him actually, but he preferred to discard these thoughts when they became too provoking.

His father's behaviour had grown severely irrational after that unfaithful day. Much, 'MUCH' worse in Canir's opinion. He had turned from a religiously-obsessed freak to a psychopathic maniac in the matter of a few years, confusing himself to such a point where he had become simply desperate to have his point out there for others to follow. Alas, to his son's misfortune, this had led to fatality. Having been shot down in the streets during a protest by a member of the law at forty-one years of age, his death had traumatized his son to such a degree that Canir had been left troubled.

As the confusion had settled in those years before, compacting Canir's logic into a smouldering pit of fire, his son had been desperate to communicate with the figurehead in his life he had lost. More than eager, he had come to discover. Far more than that. Guilt due to the fact that he had taking him for granted had become unbearable. So Canir had simply become determined to make conversation to his late father again, this time cherishing his presence in the way he had always had.

It was this provoking urge that had drawn Canir's thoughts back to his own personal beliefs he had inherited through the ways of his grandfather, bringing him further into the concept than he could have imagined. Just across through the Southern border of the country, selected Tribes had hidden themselves away from the eyes of the G.E, having been formed when certain people saw no point in waiting for the country to make amends for itself.

By 0'seventeen, particular beliefs had been barely traceable within the communities of the selected world and when the horror struck them without warning, many had been faced with no choice other than to reimburse these specified faiths. As picturing no future in the world by examining its current path was often too painful to do without being sure of the fact that there was a back-up plan to turn to when faced with the worst. Something to really cling onto when life started taking its early morning stroll down the bumpy, narrow road. And for many, trusting the Government as it staggered and stumbled to perk up the rest of Society had simply been too much to even contemplate and so they had decided to take matters into their own hands as a result. For some, it meant placing the blame on the people of Earth for their sins and for others - well - it meant believing in something else entirely.

In the eyes of some, the world had been riddled by a plague like no other. Disastrous at that. Ready to scar anyone within range as soon as the mental whistle was blown into the winds of the night.

Spirits. In the eyes of some, they were what affected the world the most. The wisest of all forms on Earth, some might say. With eyes that have seen both the World of the Spirits as well as the physical world, with the ability to see anything and everything that could be happening in the world at any given moment in time. Some would disagree and say that they would have absolutely no knowledge of the rest of the world and the happenings, but others would protest and state that the spiritual world was a very strange place indeed. One particular state of mind that provided the knowledge of a thousand years on the blink of an eye, deteriorating any sense of insecurity into the wisdom that only came as natural.

But not all 'spirits' were set out to influence the world positively, as minds in the spiritual form were far more concise than those in the physical world. As the empty surroundings would often suppress the minds, settling all thoughts in the way they should have been facing from the start to match the individuals. Well - this was what Canir had learnt over the years, though at times he couldn't really be sure of himself on those bad days he hated facing.

According to Canir's smarts, his father had been one of the decent spirits in the land of the dead. But the Spirits of the Night were just as strong as those of the Day, and could affect the minds of the living in the most terrifying ways possible. Causing the people who had once been open-minded to commit inhuman sins against Nature when they possessed the good people of the world and bewitching the worst completely.

So, as Canir stood up from his position and cautiously edged himself towards the window of his room, his eyebrows shot up to the heavens in contemplation. Nothing much could be seen from here bar from the interior area of the block he was located in and the misty skies above. There wasn't actually anything to see, he came to realize. But something could most definitely be felt, just stirring the air with its subtle gusts licking his conscience without much of a though to be made. The aura he could see in the air suddenly stuttered, and something unnatural finally struck him with the knowledge he had been yearning to come across:

The Heaver of the Life was sending a warning -

…

When the sounds of Death coursed their way through the night air, a sense of overriding fear edged within Jessie and she suddenly felt bewildered. Confused actually. Like the reaping sound was enough to eradicate any trace of common sense still left within the young woman into cinders, disintegrating all high spirits within her into the crystal embers of a freshly lit hearth

Of course she knew the sound when she heard it. The sound of the engines ripping through the air, tearing at all atmospheres around, was purely unmistakable. For it was one ghastly sound she had heard many times before when making her way through the streets with her brother; a hum echoing through the air that always had the unspeakable matters lingering behind, just waiting to cause destruction at the first moment of weakness they came across. Yes - Jessie knew of the dangers coming and, from the way Bullseye stiffened at her side and cowered against her in fear, she could tell that her brother also knew of the danger coming their way. For this was one sound they had heard many times before; a situation they had stumbled across many a time.

When realization seeped from her conscience and into her comprehensible core, Jessie felt her eyes widen in fear. In no way did she have to be told anymore, because she knew what to do when the sound of Death coursed its way to them. And it was rather simple to master the technique actually, as she had a knack of coming across dangers like these in the most unexpected times. The only thing they had to do was run. Simple as that really. Sprint for life.

Taking hold of her brother's hand firmly, her brother also knew of what was to be done at that moment. For running like the wind was what he had been born to do. Tightening his own grip on Jessie's hand, he cautiously waited for the instruction. He wouldn't know where the planes would be found, but they could be anywhere by now. Right in front of their noses if he wasn't careful enough. So he couldn't just peg it off in any direction without knowing where he was going. So it was for this reason and this reason exactly, he waited for Jessica to speak up first. He didn't want to end up on the wrong side of a torrent of bullets or under an explosive; he eventually came to tell himself. And oh how he was right.

Cautiously scanning the area around her with inspective eyes, she listened carefully. Hoping to hear the sounds of the jet engines clearer in the attempt to fond out where they were heading, a part of her refused to comply with her nagging thoughts tearing feverously at her mind. Frozen in place, her senses had dropped dead for that brief moment. If the answer to the question lurking through her mind hadn't been so unclear, then she might have come to her logic sooner than she had, but now the initial shock only played with her mind. Leaving her slightly confused as she waited for the movement in the air.

What had she been waiting for again? She asked herself as the terror crested inside of her seeped into her mind, blanking her thoughts completely as she gaped ahead with an empty expression clearly evident across her face. Something unnatural must have crept into her and wiped her common sense clean of any rational theories, as her sudden act of helplessness definitely was not like her. Usually, she'd be the first to jump at the first sign of disruption but now - well - she simply didn't know what to do.

Would any idea possibly manoeuvre around the ending result of Death? Surely the jets heading their way wouldn't be in use to drop off supplies to those all around, for the General Escorts were not at all that generous. So if they weren't prepared to do this or to hand out a friendly greeting, then they must be ready to drop something else. One little explosive with a small charge of course, as the public would go absolutely mental if it was anything too serious. As, though they knew where they stood, they knew little more on what actions crossed the line completely. And any spark of hope bellowing into a sparkler could cause national conflicts if the chaos went out of hand.

A little drop from above wouldn't cause too much interference in the communities though as long as the Death toll wasn't taken too far, and enough damage would be caused to remind all of their places without given out the fact that the people of the country were being treated unfairly.

That's all it was. A small explosive with the ultimate power to maybe cause damage to a building or two, and to injure or possibly slaughter any of the last remaining Long Run's that might be cowering shamelessly. Too unassertive to face what was waiting for them but daring enough to mess with the laws of Society day after day, breaking their unbroken record at every passing day on the count of how many days they had been free from the authorities as they did so. With despicable acts enough to haul the peoples' stomachs from the rightful heavens and into the bottomless pits and morals enough to make the most misshapen of the twisted sick with disgust. And a small explosive could deal with them if the public were willing to make necessary sacrifices.

Jessie had encountered many of these 'explosives' during her time. A few months ago, one of the bombs had hit a small building aligning the one she had hidden herself in, when the whole area around her had been smouldered with the tongues of the raging flames and the parting debris of the broken buildings. Fortunately, her brother had been smart enough to follow Jessie's orders moments before the bomb had detonated and had pegged it out of there before he could have been injured.

But now the situation was different, completely. With no idea of which direction the planes could be travelling through by simply trying to look through the masking aura of the skies above, she couldn't risk making any mistakes. As any one could end their lives instantly, and Jessie knew this fully well inside. But something within her kept her from fleeing as she felt the trepidation crest within senses, making her afraid as she pasted her eyes on the fiery heavens up above. No movement could be seen from where she stood, so she had no idea where they were going. For they could be shooting towards them or away from them, she eventually told herself in apprehension. She didn't know where, but this didn't stop the voice within her from barking out in complete and utter desperation.

_**- Run! -**_

Taking little time to ponder over this single word as she felt Bullseye grow increasingly anxious at her side, she came to her senses and tightened her left hand around his. By this time, realization had been deciphered and Jessica began to discover the true dangers behind what lay ahead for them both.

"Bullseye," She began simply, her voice almost wavering off. Her senses froze again and she found herself quivering slightly. Her common instinct was just about ready to break up into a thousand pieces, but she forced this feeling away. For she could risk nothing now. "We're gonna have to run in a moment." She paused slightly, trying to tug at the right strings in her mind to keep her tone in a tranquil state so that her brother didn't absolutely panic in fear. Though she doubted herself here, as Bullseye could often pick things up in the atmosphere sooner than she did. A simple change in the wind's direction, and he would sense it. "So I need you to do as I say. Okay?"

Bullseye nodded slowly and inwardly braced himself. Time was ticking away with every second they wasted, like the dilemma to come was simply inevitable. But, to their misfortune, Jessie's punctuality had been slightly off course.

"Now," She began to order, forcing herself to keep her insides steady as the sounds of demise approached. "We need to go."

Without another word said, Jessie took off in the opposite direction she had previously been heading. The static in the air seemed to plague her senses as she tugged at Bullseye's hand to ensure that they were still together, but she shrugged this off with a casual shake of the head. Whatever her mind brought up shouldn't be taken into any serious consideration in this moment in time, for many other important matters were to be faced first. Like how she was to keep themselves alive when they may only be minutes away from either losing their lives or from facing life-threatening injuries.

Keep low, she eventually told herself. The best thing to do in any situation like this was to simply keep your head down and to not attract any unwanted attention. Of course she was aware of the fact that the jets would drop the explosives on them either way, but she could at least prevent the spotlight from being shone down at her and Bullseye as it would be a complete death wish if the attention had been directed towards her. A death wish with a cherry planted on top, in other words.

Feeling quite disorientated, she scanned the area around the two of them as she paced forward. Looking for anything to keep them away from the impact of the blast, she found herself feeling conspicuous. The sense rose up within the pit of her stomach and tampered with her inner instincts, but she tried to ignore this as her eyes picked through all the details of the streets around her like a scavenger hunting for the first sign of an afternoon meal.

The buildings around her had either been abandoned long before or had been made useless due to impairments that no one had ever been bothered to fix. They seemed to form a rather odd housing district formed from a gathering of many semi-detached households where the rich must have lived on either side. But the area they made their way through looked just as desolate and obsolete as any regular street in the centre of a stranded town or city. Slightly odd in her opinion, but she didn't dare spend time questioning it.

The sound in the air only seemed more resistant now, almost as if it never wanted to leave the space of her hearing range. It echoed through the mist and struck her very core, edging her fear towards her conscience in anticipation as they began to make themselves clear for what they really were. Signs of both danger and destruction that would turn its back in the good at any given moment for no apparent reason.

She could tell they were approaching, for the blares of the engines only became louder and more clear with every passing second. But she couldn't tell which direction they were advancing from as her senses had been left dazed by this unexpected dilemma. The malevolent essence lingering along with the jets, contaminating the air with a force Jessie only knew as the state of mind ready to commit unspeakable acts, and it was getting stronger with every metre of land covered. Building up in strength only until the time where it would all be released into the atmosphere, demolishing all good aspects in sight to create an environment the dark spirits of the night truly wanted. By no means did Jessie believe in anything supernatural (though she found the theories absolutely fascinating down to the very last element and wished she could bring herself to believe in such aspects), but she sensed that morals even hung in the air, clinging onto anything they could in wait as they prepared themselves for the time where they'd be picked up. Then they'd be ready to bewitch the holder with their own beliefs and standings in life, usually aligning the 'good/bad' scale. Of course, natural confusion would make a human's mind far more complex than that, but the perspective towards it all was briefed enough. And Jessie had even come to learn about haw far morals could go to hand, leaving her feeling troubled and antiquate inside.

Urging herself forward when catching site of a small top-heavy building, she brought herself and Bullseye over to its side and carried on going forward. Found behind the semi-detached houses, were many terraces joined together in opposing gatherings. The entire area around her seemed to have been made by a puzzle many years before, cutting and dividing the pieces up into many more to form a whole new enigma that couldn't possible make sense. It was most certainly odd, Jessie came to realize as she paced forward. But she didn't dare take the time to ponder over the matter and question it. As that'd only lead to a dreadful mistake that she couldn't afford to make.

But the mistake had already been made, to her misfortune. She had made this mistake approximately sixty seconds before when deciding to head back in the direction she had come from. And now that the engines were amplified, giving Jessie a horrifying taster-session of what it was like to make the worst mistake of them all, she could sense the truth lumbering through the air.

Wide-eyed in fear, she came to realize that her current location was not a safe place to be. She could see it all playing out in the back of her mind like a tape in the theatre: The explosive will be dropped only fifty yards away, and the buildings will destroy themselves completely for fifty-five years around. Debris and glass will scatter themselves all around and where she stood now would be the final few rays of the vibrating explosion will haul themselves. Of course, five yards away from where she stood would be the safe zone in all of this, as the good forces of the world would protect anyone beyond that point without having to ask a question. But with only seconds left to spare, Jessie pictured in her mind as though an omen had plagued her mind, not both of them could come out scotch-free.

As a last split-second decision, Jessie made up her mind and used the strength from both of her arms to push her brother away. Obviously he had noticed Jessie's sudden anxiousness like spotting a black page in a new book, but the young nine-year-old had been taken by complete surprise by Jessie's action and toppled over in shock, sprinting the last few yards instinctively to keep his balance firm. He looked to Jessie in surprise, and then towards the sound of Death riddling the air with its toxic beauty. Sentimentalising the atmosphere with a crisp sense hard to identify, it roamed freely. Leaving the young boy feeling troubled inside as his legs gave in on themselves.

Taking one last raggedy breath before bracing herself for the worst, Jessie tried to steady her thoughts down. But her wishes only became obsolete when her thoughts were topped off by the hell breaking loose on earth. Her senses were cut short and she lost consciousness. Losing logic in darkness by the time she even felt the sudden release of energy course through the air.

()()()()

"Are you sure a trip like this will be safe?" The Sheriff asked with a voice riddled with a strange deterrent. In the distance, away from the small crowd of people awaiting the next train's departure down to Areas' closer up near the north, he could see the skies were darkening. The long afternoon had drawn into the day, leaving a trail of lingering darkness behind to falter the light.

Earlier on that day, the Sheriff had requested permission to enter Area Eight for necessary duties from the head of the Area (a member of the General Escorts determined on keeping everyone who shouldn't be in that area out) and the request had been granted given that he'd commit to his duties in the selected District he had requested entrance into. He had been quite reluctant to do so until now, but Pete had convinced Woody that it'd be best to track down Davies' if he had a member of the law at his side. Of course, missions like this were compulsory nowadays, as many Sheriff's would go into other distracts to hunt down a provocative outlaw and often wasn't given a second glance as long as the individual to do so. For trespassing into other Area's without consent was an offence. It was to keep things secure throughout the country so that spotting the odd head where it shouldn't be would become easier. Whether or not this would actually make a difference given the country's population, the Sheriff had no clue whatsoever. But permission for himself and the bounty-hunter had been granted nonetheless, so now they were free to enter Area Eight without having to worry about being branded a first-rate traitor. As many others had been during their time.

Pete, distinctly noticing the slight edge of anxiousness within the Sheriff's voice, ghosted a humourous smile across his lips. A whistle was blown in the distance, its screeching echo like venom in the silent winds of the oncoming night, indicating the train's near departure.

As if on cue, the rest of the crowd fumbled into the train's carriages. Smoke from the stream train's engine masked the area around with a thin sheet of mist, but the crowd didn't seem to take this into consideration. Unsurprisingly, only the richest of people could afford to travel across the country, as the shortage of fuels meant that its usage would cost a fortune. And both Pete and Woody had been forced to pay a lot for this simple journey of no more than thirty or so miles.

"Of course I'm positive, Sheriff." Pete stated teasingly. "That Davies is cowering somewhere yonder, and we might get a dime o'two for bringing him in."

"You definitely know where he's near?"

"No need to question the barrel of dynamite, Sheriff," Pete said carelessly, his voice oddly enthusiastic. "He's been right under my nose for weeks now, and I'm not gonna let this apple in the cider hatch escape my sight."

Pete's words, as usual, Woodrow couldn't bring himself to protest against. The train was beginning to fill up with the rich passengers, and would be leaving any moment.

"All right then…" Woody murmured simply, his voice wavering off into the distance as he mentally prepared himself for the long day that lay ahead.

()()()()

A small change in the winds direction stirred against Jessie's skin and she woke up groggily to the faint surroundings around her choking on the dust that suppressed Jessie's lungs. Her senses entered consciousness only to be faced with a slithery sheet of pain, slowly compacting her inner will as her hand shot up to her neck. Elicited senses drew out the rest of the pain she had met prior to this moment from a several hours before to jab mercilessly at her insides, making her feel disoriented as she blinked hard to clear her thoughts.

The surroundings around her seemed fainter than usual, almost ghostlike for one reason or another. It was quiet, she soon found out. Far too quiet for her usual liking actually, but the pain lingering through her nerves seemed almost too provoking to allow her thoughts to ponder for the time being as her gaze became fixed into the distance where the aura of the air was beginning to patch itself together like the pieces of a jigsaw.

It was strange. She knew that all was bad and that she should be panicking like the heaven knows what, but for some reason something inside her refused to cooperate with her nagging conscience, like this was the only natural thing to do as her mind drifted away into something unknown.

What she should have been concerned about at the moment didn't even cross her mind as she saw the figure emerge into a physical form, approaching her at a pace that almost drove her coordination ballistic. If she had been able to make more sense of her thoughts, then she might have been worried for her brother by the time the clock even struck the next second. But somehow, as the pain welled up within her, killing her insides quite literally, this was the last aspect to cross her mind.

Her perspective skipped the next few moments somehow and soon enough she saw the figure of a man perched on a horse silhouetting the darkness. It was peculiar, because a part of her felt as though she had known this person all of her life. Quite literally too as she came to realize when the figurehead entered the limelight of her vision. And her senses sparked instantly in anticipation when she saw just exactly who it was.

"Pa-" She whimpered hoarsely, her voice quivering through her lungs. She felt like she was dying inside as she tried to lift herself to face him directly. But the pain was far too disruptive to allow such a movement she came to unfaithfully discover, both her fears and her inner hopes unravelling inside her as she gaped at the mystical form in desperate admiration.

It was remarkable, she came to figure. Her mind was spinning in circles in shock, but the sight before her was clear enough. Something began to stir within her and she suddenly found herself feeling elated inside despite the situation. The man sitting on the elegant silver horse had a face she could picture clearly in her mind, leaving her senses to saunter off aimlessly into the distance: The reassuring glint to his steely eyes had been familiar enough to relate all of her thoughts back to him and the shade of his dark blonde hair was unlike any other Jessie had seen before. Bringing back all the evidence over to him and locking it into place in the quick fraction of a second.

It was him all right, but there was only one thing to it: He was supposed to be dead.

It was amazing, she soon thought. Problems may have arisen, but she pushed aside this fact for the time being. The face she illustrated perfectly in her mind now was one she would recognize in a crowd and it was one she hadn't seen in the better part of seven years. Whether dream or hallucination, an act of desperation pushed her over the edge in the next few moments when she observed the area around her one more time. What was missing? She wondered before something hit her.

"W-" She began breathlessly, having no choice but to cut herself off when she choked on her own voice. "Where's Bullseye?"

She already knew the answer - that was easy enough to tell. But she needed the reassurance of someone else to make it clear to herself as her thoughts didn't even seem to make sense to herself. This couldn't possibly be real, she told herself. But the strange feeling building up within the pit of her stomach told another story.

The blond-haired man cocked his head to the side, almost as if mimicking her brother during a time of confusion. Though she didn't seem to understand why this was appropriate, she still felt determined enough to try and push herself up with her hands. Only to end up failing completely when she coughed up a mouthful of dust again. The pain she felt didn't represent a metaphor - she really was dying inside.

As if she had been sent a message by a superior power, these words became implanted within the core of Jessica's mind. **_- He's safer than you are now. But the Reaper of the Night still hunts desperately for a host -_**

What did these words mean? Jessica asked herself this. 'The Reaper of the Night', he was the worst of all bad spirits; right…Jessie knew this well. But what she didn't understand was why her mind found any need to bring this illusion up. At a dying moment, she could only convince herself that the acts around her were charades, formed from her own mind. It confused her to put it simply, and she hadn't the faintest idea why.

"I-I don't-" She stammered helplessly, reeling within the excruciating pain pecking at her inner spirits. A part of her didn't understand why this was happening and she abruptly began to feel confused. "I-need-help." She admitted hoarsely, though she severely doubted any would come. She had tampered with the Fates one time too often and now they were turning around on her, with teeth sharp as knives prepared.

His firm look faltered into one of sympathy. His mouth hadn't moved yet and his form shimmered against the dark of the oncoming day, but she could still here him clearly without much effort being made in her part.

**_- Time is short, love -_** His words told her simply, cutting the conversations as short as possible for the time being. **_- But you have to remember one thing -_**

"What?" She asked desperately, covering her faces with her arms as she tried to keep herself from screaming out in absolute agony. The end was nearing for her, but time had still not been forgotten.

Without another word said, her father brought his fingers to his lips and tapped his forehead twice, doing the same to his heart after. The action made no impression on Jessie, as it pained her just to keep herself from whimpering in fear, but it sent these words floundering carefully through her thoughts.

**_- Your soul will always be clean. Remember that -_**

The confusion settled within her would eventually boil into anger, he reminded himself. And she would be able to withhold herself no further if the worst should meet the worst. So Saunders', the man who had lost his life seven years before on that unfaithful day in the prision courtyard, cautiously added:

_**- Don't curse your enemies with your last breath, love. Bless who matters… -**_

With that said, the amateur in disguise faded along with his horse into the air and Jessie's conscience slipped away from her body and into the limelight of the dark…


	9. The Wings of the Silent

_**Chapter Eight  
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_She jumped backwards when the figure disappeared into the darkness. A serial echo floundering through the air told her that she was not where she had been only a few minutes before. Instead confirming that she was somewhere very different entirely, and not just the desolating darkness of sleep either. The step from drowsy consciousness into this state of mind told her exactly that, for she was aware of the surroundings around her at this time. Gifting her unfairly with the knowledge she could have done without. That the leap into this state of mind hadn't been entirely coincidental and sent her thoughts reeling endlessly._

_When she regained her senses, Jessica turned around and refocused her attention on the world around her, only to come across one site she could have done without. Her eyebrows cocking up in slight confusion, her mouth dropped slightly agape._

_Lost in the deceivable distance of the darkness and the desolation formed by matters unknown in this strange world, a small boy in rags lay whimpering on his ivory bed of stone. A patch of light within the black coverings of the unseen shone underneath his body, silhouetting his form like a blanket of the mysterious essence influencing many lives of those found in the physical world of which this place was no part of. With knees drawn to his chest, the tears tricked down his cheeks like the passage of the water's currents, staining his cheeks with the indication of vulnerability cherished by the Spirits of the Night as he revelled unwillingly in the masking of pessimism._

_Nothing else could be seen for miles around, Jessica came to think as she strolled silently and effortlessly, though with caution, through the world of the un-dead where illusions roamed and the dead hid in the reticence of the nocturnal day. Cowering in fear where they were forever to remain unheard and where the Reaper of the Night had haunted all, letting loose the evils of the world into the space where the late waited after death; scarring the innocent and haunting the good before releasing itself into the real world where it would engage itself in the most inexplicable acts against Nature. Taking over the weak and making them stronger; stronger than life and stronger than death before dropping them completely, like the poison nectar of Satan they had become. Killing them by the time they even had a chance of escaping with their lives intact._

_The oncoming darkness of the trance had led her to the dim light of the room around her as she awoke to the grim reality around her. A dull murmur of voices fogging up the silence was what had drawn her back to her senses completely, leaving her feeling dazed as she readjusted her eyes back to the newly altered change in the lights._

_Her mind still went on reeling with the pictures and the sounds from her previous 'dream', disturbing her slightly to some extent. It had been more realistic than any of her other recent dreams had been and more peculiar at that. Because not only had it felt real, but the whole world around her had seemed illustrated by a book and not her imagination as usual. But she couldn't manoeuvre her mind around anything, and soon found her attention span locked in place. Instead, her mind was brought back towards the boy._

_A small change in the boy's rocking pattern caught the stirring aura in the air completely off guard, peaking their interest to the lost heavens looming above their purified essence. They couldn't be seen really, but they brought along an unnatural chill in the air that stiffened the boy's senses. Making him lift his head up silently as he observed the way the particles in the air vibrated. Soundly, but noticeable nonetheless. It took only a matter of being patient to notice this. That they were waiting - watching - him from right over his shoulder without him even being consciously aware of the fact that they were prepared to make him stronger inside. To break him down again._

_And then take over him, completely. It only took patience on their behalf to achieve this - patience and the ultimate knowledge guaranteeing the perfect success._

_One of the harsh winds lurking in the atmosphere turned abruptly and swiftly to slightly startle the young boy, brushing against his cheeks sharply to freeze the small particles of his skin into place. Sending an ice hot chill to dart violently down his spine, they rejoiced in high optimism. Proud of themselves for causing such a feel to stir and boil up in the body of one so innocent. They were amused simply. Content._

_From where the young woman stood, motionless, she could clearly recognize the boy by the way he withdrew himself from the artful world lingering around him. Fixed in place with a plan set perfectly; absolutely precise. He was isolated, and the mind of this world knew this fully well. For it was the power behind the vibrations enlivening the air that was forcefully coursing this all. With fruitless intentions and a craving. A lust for pain and the spilling of the internal blood - inflicting it that is._

_In the words of the simple, the boy was alone. Desolate and weeping silent tears; a pure use metaphor to relate to the young child she knew all so well in the physical world. Which came as no surprise, obviously, as the sorrowful boy cradling himself was of her own flesh and blood in her mind._

_Shadows enclosed the area around them both, making it seem all the more empty and broken as she neared the shattered soul, walking cautiously. Silence bounced off the ground and into the atmosphere, but her mind didn't dare quieten._

_Something hard hit the boy all over, like the pit pattering of raindrops dropping down from the heavens onto glass, awaking all of his senses instantaneously. He froze in his tracks, suddenly becoming very anxious. Jessica noted this action abruptly and arched her brow-line up to the skies in bewilderment. When his breath caught in his throat, she suddenly became very aware of her position. She had been walking, being very conscious of her doings as she did so, and she had been moving most definitely. But the image of the boy seemed fixed in the distance and, no matter how hard she tried to progress forward, she never moved any closer towards her. It was strange - yes - but something seemed only natural about this. Almost as if the surroundings were meant to pull this effect upon her eyes. It seemed only bland and unordinary to one's mind, but a very secretive part of her knew that all she saw was buzzing with life and activity. Simply extraordinary in other words, but the true magnificence of the simple mind illusion just seemed to slip out of her focus, speeding off into the distance before she even had the chance to do anything about it._

_An abrupt change in Jessica's thought cycle drew her away from the reality of this echoing world and into a deep state of thought. The peculiar sounds her mind made were barely audible above one another, as they all cried out to her in vicious spasms of violence and rage, but one of them seemed to stand out against all others. Almost like the awaited spark of light in the chasms of darkness when the night had settled upon the alienated land, drawing the darkness in from all corners and possible angles. And this single thought simply questioned all of the strange aspects she had come across as slightly confusing. Why did the world around her feel so enlivening against her skin when there was nothing to be seen? The boy looked so frightened of some high power of an odd sort when he could see nothing but the vibrating particles of the air, merging into darker forces that would only haunt him at his one moment of vulnerability when they had the chance._

_Nothing could be seen out there other than the patchy surroundings themselves and the scared form of a weak boy, but something could still be felt. Only the gentle kisses of the winds at times or the silent whispers of the night, but it could be identified as a keen trace of life if one had been willing enough to look harder. Past the meddling masks of contemplation and the toxic pillars of narrow-mindedness and plain bigotry, silent but as deadly as the blinded beliefs of the bewitched, the answer would lie. Out of reach- yes - but definitely in view, if one had the patience to search for it through the charades of life of course. But individuals with this type of perspective were few and far between. Which went without question when Jessica truly thought about it, as a majority of the people in the world had been unfortunate enough to enter life with inept senses of sight? So, when she finally felt the air shimmer in defeat, she eventually drew out a sigh of relief._

_The danger had passed as soon as it had even arrived to cause so much provocation, fleeting away in fear as natural instinct told them that the worst was to come for them, and was replaced by something else just as quickly. Jessie, however, seemed to be not the only one who had noticed this, as the boy's insides peaked in anticipation, slowly edging as he hugged his legs closer to his chest._

_When his whimpers had become ones of despair, Jessie felt that a force within this world had come to sympathise with the boy she could easily recognize. This small scent stirring within the air became a patchy aura, hovering beside the frame of the small boy before thickening into a body. A woman emerged from the shadow in the atmosphere, with a coppery essence tinting her long, luscious hair resembling wildfire and with a strange glow to her form that Jessie went on to instantly admire and respect._

_When the figure became clear, Jessie had been left bewildered. For the woman beside the form of her brother had the same coppery appearance to her hair as Jessie had in hers. Momentarily, she thought the woman in the scene was herself and she convinced herself of this for a few moments, before she heard her voice course through the lingering atmosphere._

_"Hush, child…" A delicate voice, silky as fresh cotton, soothed gently. Her voice like nectar in the winds as she appeared abruptly by the boy's side, already stroking his hairline gently with the backs of her fingertips. The voice was one she couldn't recall seeing before which was oddly peculiar, as the woman looked almost exactly like her._

_Of course, from where she stood, Jessica couldn't catch sight of the mystical forms face, but the very textures behind her hairs colour matched the one of the woman's without a question. With the same coppery streaks and the same scarlet texture, it was no surprise that Jessie had been left slightly bewildered. Arching her eyebrows up to the heavens, Jessie wondered whether she was seeing a possible future version of herself in this state of mind, as the older of the two matched her descriptions clearly apart from age and voice as far as Jessica knew._

_Upon instinct, Jessie looked down to study the texture of her own hair and saw the exact complexity behind the copper strands. It was ironic actually, because it was almost exactly alike. Standing out like a sore thumb in a crowd. Somehow though, something within her felt no need to question the resemblance, as focusing on the boy instead of the woman seemed to be the only thing that mattered at this moment in time. So he pushed the inadequate sounds her mind created aside for the time being._

_Kneeling down beside the boy, the redheaded woman tenderly stroked the boy's cheek. From what Jessie could see, it wasn't so sure whether Bullseye could tell that she was actually there or not, because his only reaction to her feathery touch was a slight cocking aside of the head, feeling the breeze of the winds brush his skin gently. But she didn't ponder over this for long before she heard the words sooth the vast torrents of fresh commotion coursing endlessly through the atmosphere, echoing like the solemn rings of a church bell sounding in the middle of the night._

_"Shh…" Her gentle voice coursed, stroking the boy's hair soothingly. Her silky gown, decorated at the ends with fascinating decors, seemed to match her inner character. Like the sweet drops of nectar on a heavenly day, her personal aura seemed to be one of magnificence. Derived from pure beauty and innocence. Almost as though she had lost her life unfairly when her soul was purified from the sweet melodies of the harmonious mocking bird; like she belonged here, but didn't deserve to linger through the desolate depths of such a place. "It's only your fear making this real."_

_It was then that Jessica realized that the elegant figure looming beside her brother must have been a figure of her imagination, because Bullseye seemed to take no notice of her at all. In her perspective, it was almost like the whimpering boy had been a representation of something bigger and that the woman had been a chunk of Jessie's imagination morphed into a physical form. Then again though, the boy had seemed to have relaxed when the mystical woman had formed from the particles of the atmosphere. However, to also be bluntly obvious, Jessie could have imagined this as well, she came to realize._

_"You're waiting for someone to piece the broken parts of the soul together, aren't you?" She asked, only to receive no answer of course. But, in truth, she didn't need one; she knew the truth behind the answer well enough as she could read the expression upon his face just as she had been able to translate the ancient texts of long forgotten tribes. With eyes like tender timber and words reflecting the wise nature of a tree's ember towards life. As Jessie watched from afar, she wanted to approach. But something kept her frozen in place, telling her not to intervene. "It'll take the time, child. For living someone else's fears and values is arduous and can take time."_

_She paused momentarily, understanding that the child wasn't listening but wishing to continue onwards anyway._

_"It's the final connection you need to heal the soul. Knowledge by any means. Something strong - something you've always dreamed of knowing about the healer. It creates the final link that mends the broken spirit, and it's far more powerful than you could ever imagine."_

_The Bearer of the Life paused in her tracks, feeling that she's completed her tasks for the time being and delicately kissed the boy's forehead before drawing away. Of course, it didn't do anything other than stir the air around his skin, but it made his eyebrows arch slightly._

_Standing up graciously, her form disappeared into the luminous light, leaving Jessie stranded with her own thoughts._

_Jessie wanted to question the previous few moments, but she didn't dare ponder over the aspects for too long before taking the boy's side. Kneeling down and bringing the form of her brother into her arms, she held him close and allowed him to get over his fears. Of course, the time where he'd receive the knowledge mentioned was drawing closer by the second, but Jessie took no notice of this._

_Stroking his dark hair, she whispered into his ear, allowing all the natural instincts to take over her as the pace her heart ran quickened:_

_"You have wings," She told him simply, her voice raspy. And how very right she had been. He did have the potential and it could surge to the heavens if he tried hard enough. "So open them up and fly."_

_And it was these very words that sent the path to the knowledge ablaze in the embers of anticipation._

_Suddenly, he disappeared completely from her grasp and she looked around in absolute bewilderment. Her insides edging in fear, she stood up and observed the pieces of the provoking puzzle, all limbering right before her sight._

_The memory being set right before her eyes was patchy at first, showing nothing more than the vague outlines and the murmurings of the long-ago experience that could not be deciphered fully. A picture from her past that had been illustrated clearly within her mind soared through her senses. Making her relive it all yet again before she even had a chance to fight vigorously against her own memories -_

_..._

_Though she was aware that her form was observing this exact scene from afar, she was living this experience in person. In two different places at once she saw it all from, but her vision didn't shift between the two perspectives though. As the fresh, scalding recollection of the event was far too vivid for her to overlook._

_"Jess?" A voice from beside her, as clear as gold, asked. Drawing her away from her reeling thoughts after the brief letdown of the guard. She had been huddled against his chest for a while now, weeping silently, and now the Sheriff was beginning to become extremely concerned over the young girl clustered into his arms._

_Any extra knowledge of this event seemed to drift away from her as her senses arched in shocked anticipation, almost as though she had never been fortunate enough to come across the information before. It dissolved completely, seeping out through her breath and disappearing into the air of the cold night looming around them, like magnetic pulses of consecutive energy, and she found herself living the entire moment again through fresh eyes. Ones that had been blinded from seeing the true horrors of the world for what they really stood, or how her interaction with the Sheriff would influence her exactly. For the memory of the long-since lived moment only seemed to contaminate her thoughts to an even greater degree, leaving them tattered and riddled with filth as she opened her eyes clearly._

_The first sight to meet her as she turned her head to her left was the Sheriff she had traced the voice back to and, for one peculiar reason or another, a part of her reached out to him in anticipation. Almost as if longing for something she knew would most likely lie out of her reach. But this voice seemed to take no notice of this for the moment and reached out for the last spark to light the match of its heart. For it would only take one spark of hope to set her soul ablaze, eliminating all signs of pessimism in an instant to lift her sanguinity up to its highest peak. Where it would glimmer and excel for eternity, revelling in the bowels of excellence._

_As though her heart was made of timber, the eternal fire of her soul set the rest of her senses ablaze. The Sheriff had been here for a while now, listening to her and judging her through her spirit instead of her social ailments, and a part of her had been forever grateful for this. As the events of her unfaithful past had finally caught up to her, leaving her deeply unsettled, she had felt vulnerable._

_After escaping the claustrophobic surroundings of the cities shelter, making sure her brother had been settled enough, she had ventured off into the streets to clear her thoughts. To no avail of course, as they only progressed towards a matter she hated to have her thoughts stumble across. The fate that awaited her if she didn't comply with the rules of the country was a terrible one she dreaded to think of, but one she had come to experience in others many times by this point in her life. The death of her father had triggered this mainly though, even if he had died five years before. From that day onwards, her life had truly begun to slide downhill, falling into the deceivable pits of shattered optimism. And the damage of that single day even wore down until now, dampening her soul immensely. Never resting and never halting even for a short moment._

_And it had been this very kind of pain that had tortured her that night, making her vulnerable to the higher powers of life as her mind became submerged with all of the haunting thoughts and sounds her mind made. Of course though, the Sheriff had found her perched in the street alleyway shortly after she broke down completely, weeping all the fluids of her heart out. And, for one time in her life, she had allowed herself to give into the troubling matters to find the comfort she sought endlessly, the same kind she found in this very same man with the soul of a vivid mind. Adaptable and negotiable, just as everyone should be but most failed to be._

_"Are you all right?" He asked in concern, his voice hardly drawing her out of her train of thought as her mind entered that trance-like state. Almost like she was dreaming contently, her eyes narrowed as a strange force drew her spirit closer to his. She didn't know what it was exactly, as she had never come across or heard of it before. But it didn't take two sticks in a cup to prove that the porcelain object's base had been moisturized by the waters of the oceans, so she didn't dare question it as she leant towards him. She just knew that it was something good. Like the desired raindrops in the blazing winds of the summers' day, or the sentimentalising beauty of God's sweet nectar. It was purely magnificent._

_Of course, the Sheriff had only become aware of Jessica's movement when their eternal spirits were only a split moment away from touching. So by the time he had spotted her slight motions, it was almost far too late to react. As the tenderness of each other's souls had already met by that point, linked together by a soft kiss; causing both sets of eyes to flutter shut, though one was already lost and the other was simply caught off guard. Sweet and silky just like the look of Jessica's lips, as Woodrow had come to notice. Like the taste of a sugary nectarine, fresh as from when it had been picked from the majestic trees of the southern countries. The zest of the simple touch floundered through Pride, leaving him both motionless and clueless as she trailed her jaw line against his. Revelling in the wondrous sensation of his feel against her skin when his natural instinct came to its senses, Jessie sighed a moan into his lips when he held the side of her face. In return, she brought her hand up to caress the side of his left shoulder lovingly. Unaware of her current doings of course, as it was instinct that played its toll upon her during this moment of time. Leading her through the next few minutes and through all of the wonderful feelings that coursed through her nerves as she edged herself nearer to him._

_Before either of the two had come to realize what was happening, Jessie had moved herself to straddle his lap and Woody himself was beginning to lose himself within the peculiar force guiding their movements. As even he had found himself influencing the passion of the kiss. Running his tongue soundly along her upper lip, tasting the ripe fruit for every drop it was worth, he convinced her to open her mouth slightly to deepen the kiss. With her taste seeping into his harmoniously, like a lemon's zest against sugar, Woody explored the available space melodiously, rejoicing in the soft sounds of her blissful moans. Hoping to hear the musical sounds again, like a sweet melody to the ear, he stroked her back soothingly with his free arm._

_Acceleration boosted his nerves like energy, intoxicating all senses that lay within line of sight with some chemical that set his soul ablaze as these few moments went by, giving him the inner strength to progress on when his insides really felt like disintegrating into the smithereens of what they had once been. Caressing one hand up her back, he fingered the loose, stray locks of her fiery, copper hair. Running it through and through, he felt the silk-like texture of the strands and thought of how real, true and natural hers was. Not like the dyed hair others had that they had stained with oil to blend into the community around. No - hers was natural. Like a Goddess's at that. And the feel of it was absolutely wonderful. Not like straw or sawdust, but like silk and the fine texture of a quill's end. He had never seen anything quite like it._

_Naturally, the use of their respiratory systems became insufficient and they pulled apart for breath, though severely regretted it. But Woody barely took one breath of air in before moving to her slightly exposed right shoulder. Bucking his head down, he kissed her hot skin over and over, pecking her body lightly with affection and lust clearly illustrated in his actions. Her mind was sent spinning at these delicate touches and she ran a hand through his brown hair soundly - it really was like a field of pure bliss; just the right texture and just the right feel to it to make the simple gesture a natural habit - coursing out another moan through the bowels of her lungs as she relaxed in her position._

_Tension rose within her, seeping out gradually along with the soothing flow as the trail of affectionate love bites progressed further up her neck and jaw line. It was almost like the touch of his lips against her skin set her nerves ablaze in fiery anticipation, forcing all of her provoking thoughts to the pits of her mind where they truly belonged, frying them on a skillet._

_Against the wall of the alley, the Sheriff bucketed the weight of her body down onto his hips as though it was one of the only natural things to do. When instinct guided the arch of his body towards her, her breath plunged into her throat, coming out as a raspy sound of satisfaction. Syrupy and melodious to the sound, like the scarce breaking of sunlight sinking into the land after the dull period of depriving darkness, in ran through his ear drums. He also let out a soft sound in appreciation when Jessie brought herself closer to him, closing the gaps between them as she rubbed her body against his sensually. She loved hearing this sound, so she took pleasure and contentment out of it gratefully._

_The timber wood of her heart was finally set blazing into the night skies when his lips caressed that one spot of her nape that made her senses hang over the edges. Gasping sharply as she was weakened by that touch, her head fell back and she bit her lip softly to keep herself from sighing in hedonism._

_Knowledge, as crisp as daylight, coursed through her thoughts, spiralling off endlessly towards her core. It was strange, but the part of her reliving this moment had felt that something had been seeking the answer to a question for a while by now, and she suddenly felt wary. Almost as though she was connected to a source that had been observing her from afar for years. But it didn't make sense to her mind, so crumbled completely when Woodrow kissed her jaw line tenderly. A common instinct, blinded by only the higher forces guiding him through the night, made him muster: "…Gorgeous…" Like a drop of luxurious nectar, the word passed through him and devoured Jessica's senses hungrily._

_Her spirits lifting, she lifted his gaze by hooking a finger underneath his chin. Electric currents clashed into the waves of the calm ocean, battling for the freedom to flounder through every end of the Earth, when their eyes connected. From the moment they had first met each other personally, they had tended to become lost within the other's gaze. Even without realizing it. And, though they only connected briefly, any traces of uncertainly abandoned their cores and fled. Giving Jessie that one last spark of truth as she caught his lips in hers again._

_The feeling of being watched from afar grew stronger within Jessie's subconscious, but the waves of warning were only faint and subliminal as Jessie massaged her hands up Woody's back. Inhaling deeply, the rise of her body moved against his chest, sending a charged current down Woodrow's spine as she revelled in the wondrous sensations coursing through her nerves. Bottling the weight of her pelvis down as he curved his body upwards, a piquant spasm rocketed through her hips, capturing her breath as her heart hammered against her ribcage. The feelings were natural of course, but she was being blinded by something far stronger than Nature. And it was something that played with her endlessly._

_Exploring his taste sweetly, she stroked the roof of his mouth with her tongue. Allowing the powers of Love to overpower her each and every last nerve as she sent off the revelation of the knowledge to the one person who wanted to decipher it unknowingly. Her fingers now drummed the skin of his neck, and she felt something so powerful drift away from her system as a lack of breath played bad games with her self esteem._

_For when she truly looked into his eyes, she came to realize just exactly what had happened between them both…_

_Her conscious drifting away from this particular memory, she returned to the surroundings of the spiritual world she was lost within. The woman had long since gone by this point and Bullseye was nowhere in sight. Almost showing that she had nothing else to collect now that she had offered the dreadful knowledge she didn't want to remember up for adoption._

_Instead, she felt weakened._

_Collapsing onto the floor on her knees, she brought her hand to her neck and choked. It wasn't caused by anything in particular, but just her inability to comply with the thoughts streaming into her head at a pace she had once been unable to foresee. She closed her eyes to hide the pain overpowering her nerves, but instead only had these words pasted into her mind._

_"The connection is vital, Jessica." She heard the voice of the woman announce. Cocking her head sideways, Jessie saw nothing other than the sheer darkness. "You have to live in someone's skin to reach into their eternal spirits, and they have to live in yours."_

_She understood then. Well - Jessie thought she understood. Her light-headedness made everything seem just so confusing, like it was meant to be that way. But she thought she understood though. To really heal someone for good, one would have to live through their fears and values, just as the other would have to do. It seemed simple enough, but she knew it'd scramble her mind in the longer leap though, because it always did. The torture always caught up in the end, and it would always inflict a great amount of pain depending on how patient it was._

_At this, the world merely broke apart around her. Leaving her stranded within her own mind._

()()()()

Down in the south, the words were spreading across the country like wildfire, seeping into each and every street corner like silky venom.

Eric Stevens had been caught and stripped of his dignity, down to his very core, making him the fifth Long Run to have been captured. He had been forth on the bounty list and had been Robert Saunders' lesser and co-worker. Surprisingly, he had been found hiding in Area Two, District Ten where the population had been at a higher level, simply just blending in with the crowd until suspicion grew. Pointing in his direction.

His mistakes had been rather idiotic really, because Stevens had been sixty-four years of age by that point and his age made him stand out like a sore thumb in the crowd. As the stories told by the elderly weren't always smiled upon, and this person ought not to be respected.  
>Simply because of that mistake, one person had felt the need to highlight their dubious thoughts to a member of the G.E who had an inability to keep the finger of blame to himself. And of course, the General Escort had felt the need to question the matter further and had the suspect investigated further, which left Stevens vulnerable and bare to the suspicions of the narrow-minded.<p>

Andrew Thorne had been notified of the discovery of the fifth Long Run immediately and had ordered the execution without thinking twice.

According to Thorne, Stevens' had been one of the four Long Runs to have had children. Saunders, who had also been one of these specified men, was the only one to have been killed by this point and another one of the men had died naturally over the years, leaving his own children to pave their way through life bare-handed. Stevens' three children had all relocated to the south by this point, far beyond the sight of the G.E by now, having treated their own father in the way the rest of the country had to escape with their own lives in tact. But his children were still being searched for and, once they were caught, the G.E wouldn't even pause to think about whether or not to brand them Dead Ends.

And now Stevens could only saunter through his own thoughts, simply waiting for death to come as the Spirits of the Night darkened the world around him -

…

"Look at me, boy." Davies began, lifting the young boy's chin up with a single finger for a closer observation. Saunders' son seemed a little discomforted by this action at first, but settled down when a force greater than the Fates told him that he was safe for the time being. That this mysterious man he had woken up looking at from afar wasn't dangerous by any means.

He had trusted it. The feeling coursing through his head at that. Shaping his mind and directing his thoughts in only one direction, like this was the only natural thing to do. Words of the wise the sensations had been, and each and every single one of them had been overpowering right down to the very last sample. Of course he trusted Canir, just like he had done only months beforehand. The man was wise and treated him nicely. Almost like old bark strewn up yonder by the unfaithful winds of the night, its wisdom and inquisitiveness always telling a story of its own like only normal. Wise as the soaring eagles - yes - but as kind-hearted as the very fibres of crisp gold. He had helped Bullseye and his sister when others would have turned them in for bounties. Like a father to Jessie when she had been lost in her mental battles and like a God to Bullseye. Great and mighty like the canyons of the old west and like the helpful forces of the Day, the religious man standing before the young boy was one he could trust. And Bullseye knew this down to the very last rigid stitch.

A candle light shone over the young boy, its delicate flame hovering only a few centimetres over the gentle silver wax held on a maroon china plate. Under his breath, Davies murmured something foreign to the boy. The gentle sounds coursing from his lips, despite how strange they may be, seemed to settle Bullseye and the boy almost instantly settled down. Like the water's passage, he relaxed, soothing down his senses into the bond of trust between the two of them a long time ago.

Having only awoken from a deep slumber only a few moments before, Bullseye's senses were groggy and dazed. Almost as though he had been hauled onto a bed of needle under anaesthetics, he was tired. A part of his soul felt reawakened, though still dazed, when the light of the ember floundered over his body. Crystallising the elements of his soul, the seeping flame of the candle wax gifted the boy with the knowledge received from his full resurrection. It was hard to tell what type of information Saunders' child would be given, as the kind relied on the specific connection lingering between the child and the one closest to the child. For all Davies knew, the information could range from anything to everything, as it was the knowledge that'd connect the two together, as Canir knew well.

Stroking Bullseye's chin with the ball of his thumb just ever so gently, he could tell that he wasn't completely healed. Something could have pieced his soul together, but the bad powers of the night still plagued his soul. Just like when he had found him, clinging onto himself uselessly, along with his lifeless sister a few days before, the Spirits of the Night still haunted his soul. And Canir had been able to recognize this like a rupture in the deceitful winds of the oncoming day.

"How are you feeling?" He questioned in concern, examining the young boy's eyes cautiously. Not that he had expected an answer though for, according to Jessica, he had been mute since birth. It was possible to cheat on the answer though, and simply link their minds together, but Canir knew this would be extremely risky. As something had struck the boy a few days ago when the explosion had wiped all life out of his sister, encrypting his soul with the toxic sounds of even Satan to blind the good; something bad and something most definitely dangerous. A force that could turn the average mind around in the split fraction of a mere second, discarding all of the victim's own personal beliefs and opinions as though they were the particles of sawdust lost in the winds.

His expression revealed half of what was needed in a complete answer, Davies came to realize. Jessica seemed to read Bullseye's motives far better than anyone else could, and Canir admired this. Nothing was needed for her other than her own sense of sight and a logical thought, and sometimes she didn't even need that - as the knowledge would come instinctively. However, even Canir knew that the conclusions she came to only covered a third of what was needed, even if Nature had a knack for guiding her at the appropriate times. What he needed was a way to be one hundred percent sure of what the boy was feeling - thinking - inside. As it would all lead to finding that one band of communication that would cease to fail for them both. The one that was needed.

Of course, the answer to Davies' question was simple and bluntly obvious. The boy was in pain; that much was clear at least. Which was no surprise really when he truly thought about it, because the bad spirits were nasty little buggers and, once they had a firm hold on a particular object (whether living or physically inanimate), they would never let go.

"Are you hurt?"

Silence as thick as moonlight hung between the both like the land's barrier against the sea, and Bullseye looked up at the man with sorrowful eyes. Obviously, he was hurt and there was no denying this whatsoever. The look in his eyes said it all. But it was one he had to ask. If he couldn't show whatever forces were hurting him off and back to the corners of the world where they truly belonged, then he didn't know what he'd do. If Jessica's brother was hurt because of him, then it might just give him the final push to setting himself on fire. Especially when it almost felt as though she was near, watching them helplessly. Of course, she would be far better at this than him; but anything off her would be almost impossible to achieve. So this was how his role became clear.

Murmuring his last few mutterings indistinctively, he lowered the small porcelain disk to the ground and examined the boy again. It was clear from the way he looked at him that Bullseye had found out something he would have preferred to have left stranded in the land of the unbeknownst. But he couldn't find out anything else by simply looking at his face. From the point since the boy woke up only several moments before, perched upon the thin sheet settled on the ground, it had been hard to read his motives. So it came as no surprise really that he couldn't read him now. But he hoped to be able to get around this provoking aspect. All it took was a matter of time -

"Are you all right?" Davies asked again. The answer was obvious, but he needed to make things clear. If this worked, then communication between them both would be successful, as he knew well. Watching the boy's expression twitch slightly, Canir began to question his own motives. But the uneasy thoughts were sent floundering from his mind when the boy stared at him in shock. Suddenly finding that one string in his mind that allowed him to think telepathically.

He didn't answer the question of course, because the answer to it was bluntly obvious. He was in pain of course and the elder individual knew of this very well. Instead, his thoughts found himself asking: - Where is she? -

Canir had expected this. In fact, he had foreseen this question long before this moment, when the boy had been unconscious. But it wasn't like he could blame him though, as Jessica was one of the only people who he could truly rely on.

Taking his own initiative into his hands, Bullseye cocked his head to the side and tried to lift himself up. His head ached and his chest hurt, but he managed a groggy attempt to take in the surroundings around him, only to discover that his vision was blurry. His eyes were throbbing immensely, and the shift in his position was one Davies had been unable to favour, as he tried to usher the boy down almost instantly.

"Don't try to move," He warned, solemn. "They've wiped your energy out more than you know."

To place the needle pin in the pot, Bullseye didn't really understand this. For the words didn't seem to make much sense. Well - they didn't to him anyway. They just seemed like the sayings of a wise man no one could understand So, not going as unexpected, he arched his eyebrows and settled himself down, looking at Canir in a sense of confusion. He didn't have a clue where his sister could be and he didn't even have a hope of understanding why Canir hadn't answered him first time around.

_'Where is she?'_ The voice of his mind asked, panicked. Just like how the Spirits of the Night had anticipated. _'I was just with her'_

"More time has passed than you know of, boy." He stated simply, his voice drawing Bullseye's mind into an even deeper state of thought, making him feel uncertain of his position. He didn't even doubt that Canir would be able to keep him safe, but Bullseye also knew that there was no guarantee that Canir would be kept dancing on his toes. And this fact left him slightly unnerved. "But you need not worry at the moment. It isn't time yet."

He had heard Jessie utter these exact words a hundred times before, like whenever he was worried over their supply of food when they hadn't restocked on necessities for a good few days. Or like when he saw that Jessie seemed anxious for one reason or another when they heard a noise clambering through the streets during the night. And, to speak the truth, he loathed the sound of those words. As it didn't help him feel comforted whatsoever when he knew that bad things were soon to be heading their way. And he believed that others knew of this 'very' well.

Bullseye's eyes asked a million questions, like a torrent of alienated energy, but only one of those questions made it past the vast torrent of his thoughts, snaking into his core like intoxicated venom: '_Why_?'

The question was reasonable enough, but Canir couldn't identify the motives behind it fully. It sounded almost like he was scared of the worst. As though something within him - something terrible at that - had bewitched his senses, leaving him confused. The look in the young boy's eyes was enough to lure Canir into a deep state of thought, as something embedded deeply into their cores seemed oddly unnatural. And Bullseye's mind seemed to be reeling at a thousand miles per hour. Strange and unusual - yes - but it was still there nonetheless, and it wasn't about to leave either.

Only coming as natural, Canir lifted two fingers to his lips. At this, Bullseye's senses drooped, suddenly becoming quite weary as he watched Davies tap his head twice, before dropping them to his heart and repeating his action.

**_- The Day always follows the Night, child -_** The words in Bullseye's mind told him, drilling into his thoughts like sawdust against tapestry. Ceasing to fail and daring not to caress his thoughts without handing him the information he needed. **_- Remember that. Your soul is always clean -_**

Bullseye's spirits sauntered in pain when the words reminded him of the ailment he had previously been facing, and he suddenly found himself quite breathless. Almost as though something was trying to keep him from speaking up, though he knew the idea of this had been fairly ridiculous. It just wouldn't be rational enough to make sense, because he had never done such a thing in his life.

However, natural instinct made him open his mouth, quivering uselessly before the strings of his mind forced something out of his lungs. Disoriented and indirect, but words that left Davies gaping at the boy in a sense of half-hearted disbelief.

"H-help me…"


	10. The Limelight of Clairvoyance

_**Chapter Nine**_

"Are you sure you even know where you're going?" Woodrow questioned the old prospector as he watched Pete's progress from across the room. Smiling at the foolish man's half-hearted fits of dismay, Pride shook his head and rolled his eyes fluently.

Upon entering the District a few days before, Woodrow had been requested to put forward his reason for entering the Area along with the Bounty Hunter. Of course, the Sheriff's badge on Woodrow's leather-skinned vest had been apparent enough to label Pride with his social status and had been clearly visible. Obviously, since it had identified him as being a member of the law, his rights had been recognized. After he and Pete had stated that they were after a criminal, the District's Sheriff had given the two to make use of one of the empty stations in one of the District's smaller towns to give the two the upper advantage in the chase. And, making use of the resources they had been provided with in Area Eight, District Four, now Woodrow purely glanced at the Prospector in a sense of half-hearted anticipation. Of course the chances of being sent on a wild goose chase across the width of the country again were still high, but the Sheriff wished to keep his thoughts veered towards the positive side. Well - at least until Pete got them lost again.

"Of course I know where we're heading, Sheriff." Pete said in slight protest, his voice reasonable defensive. Obviously, Pete was sure of where they were supposed to be heading this time, and he was certain he knew which District Davies would be hiding in. But Woodrow could beg to differ, immensely. "I know this Area like the back of my hand." Pete continued, as if he knew what he was actually talking about.

That was slightly ironic, Woodrow thought instinctively upon hearing these words of the elder individual, as the old, withered maps Smith was currently hunkered over told an entirely different story. Then again, Pete had once forgotten his own name and had spent an entire day going around and referring himself as to being Billy-Bob Wrench-Jones. Ignoring the calls for his attention obviously to place on top of the stack when being called for, his age sometimes became apparent when it came to recalling memories, ironically enough. So it really was no surprise that Pete's words often ended up contradicting the motives of his actions because the barking man had been running up the wrong end of the tree long before their first meeting. Woodrow would often wonder if Pete had suffered a concussion in the head during any time of his life, and often found himself believing this to be true. However, the Sheriff had come to learn in person that some people were just born on the wrong end of the intellectual table. And there was nothing that could be done about this, because there's always one runt in the litter. Well - as the Sheriff had come to believe over the years. But there simply was no way he could be completely sure.

Retaining the urge to flick back his eyes, Woodrow backtracked his mind to the beginning of this day. Quickly and sufficiently like it was the only natural thing to do that could help him make use of the vast amount of time he had left. Obviously due to a supreme lack of facilities that could house the two for the few days they were the station with the single cell to hold any prisoners that had been called in from the streets, the Sheriff and the Bounty Hunter had been forced to make use of the building they had been provided with. Only leaving Woodrow, of course, to wake up on his chair this morning to the sight of Pete scouring the floor for his last pin. Whether the small item had simply been a figure of her imagination or had physically been lost, Pride had no clue whatsoever. However, as he became to make clear in his mind as the day progressed, the Sheriff was no longer sure if he even wanted to unravel the answer from the mysteries roaming endlessly through the pits of his mind. As they'd only ever distract him, as Woodrow had also come to figure out.

"You were sure you knew the way last time and yet you sent us both all the way over to District Eleven to find a stray dog cowering in the building you though he'd be in." Woody pointed out simply, only ending up sending a shiver down his own spine at the mere recollection of that symbolic situation a few days prior. He still felt quite anxious over it actually, as the sight he had been faced with only a few days before had been utterly terrifying - and that was saying the least of the situation. For he feared more than just the thought of Death after all.

Growing up in the city, catching sight of an alimented stray dog had been quite common. As most people hadn't dared to house canines for decades due to the increasing number of sick dogs, the animals left either died off or continued to breed, spreading the infections throughout the entirety of the western world within a matter of years. The times' had influenced a great change in the well being of the animals lives, and a mad dog was no longer difficult to come across. And if bitten of course, as with all cases of rabies in the new world where the medical advances had crash-landed into the pits of what they had once been,  
>Not once or twice had the Sheriff come across such creatures, and he could instantly admit that they weren't pretty sights to stumble across.<p>

Tales of people being attacked by such atrocities had spread across the towns like wildfire when Woodrow had been younger, as there were no longer cures for rabies or other similar diseases, for the products that could ultimately form these herbal remedies were archaic and had been banished from the mainland for years by this point in time. Leaving the country to suffer through the consequences of being unable to heal the ailments that now roamed freely through the Western World, striking down all innocent individuals within direct line of sight without thinking twice, confidence became morally intolerant.

Ever since he had been a young child, Woodrow had feared two things more than anything else. And of course, they sent his spirits floundering in the shams of eristic pessimism - the most deadly tendency that could now be found in the shattered world. For it was the propensity to expect the worst out of each and every situation that had sent Woodrow's fears of Death and vicious canines shooting towards the majestic peaks of the frozen mountains. Crystallising Pride's soul into the water of the malevolent chill - where it really belonged given the horrific experiences he had been forced through during his childhood.

_Of course he knew that no good was to prosper out of his doings. He knew the plain fact as well as he knew the basic facts of life - it was dangerous to walk through the streets at night unaccompanied by an adult, especially when only the eleven-year-old boy he was. But something in the winds had called out to him that night, beckoning him closer - seizing his attention and slowly beginning to earn his trust as he allowed blind instant to lead the way forward._

_It was stupid, he thought. But this was only the righteous voice perched at the back of his mind, hunkering in desolation but still finding the strength to call out to him, blinding him from spotting what truly mattered in this situation. He didn't know what it was exactly, but he could quite easily tell that the voice belonged to someone calm and gentle, like it was only there to help. Calling him away from danger and leading him into the limelight, his active subconscious hoped the subliminal tone in his mind would keep him safe. But then again his more rational thoughts always had a higher voice, even burning the rest of his mind at times, but Woodrow Pride questioned nothing of it._

_Instead of focusing on the wider picture - like how his parents would flip if they found him to be missing, or how he could get himself killed if he walked into someone derived of an unpleasant nature - he kept on walking through the narrow street. Following his gut instinct wherever it might need him - well - if the need arose in the end. For there had been many times where plain stupidity, even for a boy of his wise upbringing, lead him astray._

_It spoke to him, but Woodrow found it particularly hard to listen. The murmurings were distant and idiosyncratic, like static almost, but an urge within him traced down the voice to its very core. Probably as though it was the only natural thing he could do, he soon convinced him how. `Or like the voice had belonged to a General Escort whose commands he always must obey. It was strange, but he didn't question this either. 'That' wasn't natural._

_Too powerful to ignore, the order wavered through his mind and he simply just felt the need to oblige himself to pursue the instructions. Turmoil united the force with the thoughts, and the feeling became increasingly like the taunts of the Satan below, setting up the barrier in his mind that pushed the logic aside and forcing all traces of sense into the pits of his mind where they truly belonged. Shutting them up and locking the door tight while they still had the energy to knacker themselves out._

_As the dark of the night lingered upon his figure as he made his way through the cobbled street that had been segmented long before, cold air blessed his cheeks and a shiver harshly coursed down his spine and into his senses forcefully. Doubtful thoughts streamed through his subconscious, but he forced them away again. It seemed to be the only right thing to do in this situation actually, especially when the boy knew that the thoughts would only ever lead him straight into a wider and deeper heap of trouble. It was better to ignore the conspicuous voices in his head completely rather than allow them to make him feel uneasy , as this would only aggravate his cautious sense; making them cower in absolute trepidation. As it was confidence he needed at this moment to pursue the blinded urge stirring continuously at the back of his mind, boiling his senses completely, for cowardice wasn't a respected attribute in his family. And if he backed away from his own impulses like a runaway, then he'd be failing himself completely in the worst way possible._

_Of course, the boy's morals were tainted to some extent, stripped of the senses that would enable him to come to his provoking logic, but the outright basis of his intentions was there. Just as it always had been, and he only really had to blame his firm upbringing for that. Backing out of a fight showed vulnerability and the weaknesses were almost instantly targeted by adversaries, his father had always told him. Being the coward of the family was scalded at and Woodrow had backed out of enough fights to be able to guarantee that the looks given subsequently were always full of exasperation. It most definitely wasn't a nice feeling and he knew this for sure._

_'Stand Tall', his father would say, and show no weakness when passing by others. On the contrary, a part of him knew that Raymond would be absolutely ballistic if he found out that his son had deliberately disobeyed his instructions. But the words were poisonous though. Foggy and hazy at the back of his mind, but they were still there nonetheless and they weren't prepared to waver off into the distance anytime soon. Reluctant to disappear off into the crisp light of the dawning evening like the dismayed ashes of a recently worn hearth flailing off into the unearthly atmosphere, the words weren't about to leave them at any time. Like the toxins of venom, they contaminated his mind and left his thoughts reeling endlessly._

_Many a time Woodrow had encountered attacks in the streets when he and his Father often ventured down to the markets, where the desperate would ambush the innocent purely out of need and despondency when their unfaithful aspiration had struck its last match. And each and every time, Woodrow would cower from the sights completely, daring not to look in fear of having the attacker alter his main target. However, due to his lack of courage in these situations, Raymond would merely scowl at his son for not showing confidence in himself. As the first sign of weakness in places like the city is a very dangerous step towards getting oneself targeted. Alike the sign of death, the attribution of fear was - and each call would signal forward something far worse than the young boy would have expected. In the standards of his father, it went like this of course._

_Obviously, the young Woodrow had never been hurt by any of those desperate enough to snap at their time of peril. But each encounter had left him with scars, scalding his inner essence completely. Nothing too severe though, but marks that hurt enough to ache internally and indefinitely._

_And as he passed through the streets, his senses blind and his thoughts disoriented, passing through the mass areas of markets and stalls shielded from the rain by their own resources, the pain sharpened as he relived the times. His intentions were obviously corrupted, but irrevocable instinct guided his movements and drilled down the voices in his head into faint whispers of distant phalanxes._

_Daring not to take the time to observe those who made their way through the markets around him, a floundering clash sounded. Echoing forcefully through the street, the barely audible whimper from a canine followed stirring commotion and unconsciously sending out one disloyal warning to those around._

_Woodrow had been taught never to trust the cries of a mad dog, for he could get himself killed merely by giving one the wrong look - as he had been told. They limped, they looked miserable, and they beckoned for the sorrow they would turn their backs on. One bite from them, and that's it - Game Over. So, maybe this was why the situations were so utterly terrifying? Woodrow wasn't quite sure and to be honest, he didn't want to know about this any longer. Not when he could hear the pants from behind him. Vexed and anticipated; just waiting for him to make the wrong move before they pounced at their prey._

_The last thing the young boy had noticed had been the fleeting away of the rest of the pedestrians in the street, as his mind was caught in the dangerous state of momentary shock, paralysing his body completely from head to toe. Within moments the whimpers became more than merely audible, blacking out his senses completely as he remained dead in his tracks. Not moving an inch in fear of the fate that lay ahead of the young form. He could sense the mortality approaching and he could illustrate it within his mind perfectly, like making out the image behind the clearest of pictures at that._

_The rest of the world remained silent and he could no longer make any sense of all the struggle floundering about freely around him as the rest of the people left the scene completely in caution. Of course, they were always cautious in this kind of environment and if Woodrow had left half a mind, then he surely would have been as well._

_Something caught his right eye, and the shock sent him staggering backwards onto his backside. A cry suddenly escaped his throat and he scrambled backwards helplessly as his eyes met the ones of the vicious dog staring him down. Eye to eye, its confidence outwitted Woodrow and the boy suddenly felt very helpless._

_The dog showed its teeth and growled. From the looks of it, it had once been a Rottweiler, just as violent as seemed. Drool trailed from its mouth and down its jaw line and it bared its teeth, sharp as snakes' fangs and poison daggers. And in its eyes showed determination as it limped. Fortitude escaped its eyes and travelled through its gaze, hitting Woodrow's core like a bullet to the heart._

_The boy whimpered again, and dared not to get up as the Rottweiler slowly approached, staring down anxiety as it neared its target. Ready to sink its teeth into his flesh, the look in its eyes narrowed as it prepared itself to pounce._

_Eyes widening, Woodrow closed them just in time to hear the gunshot course through the air and towards his direction. On a natural impulse, he cried out and shielded his eardrums with his hands, his heart pounding vigorously in his chest as the second passed by._

_He hadn't been shot; he had been relieved to find out when he felt no pain or fatigue whatsoever. But the echo hadn't been imaginary. And this became apparent as he opened his eyes to the darkness of the night, suddenly becoming very self-conscious of the fact that he should not be here at a time like this - especially when unsupervised._

_When he opened his eyes again, he was first met with the sight of the injured dog. It lay on its side twitching its muscles fiercely as the blood slowly mellowed its way out of the wound at its side. The way it whimpered told the boy that it wasn't going to live for much longer, and he suddenly felt quite saddened by the fact._

_Looking up to face the gaze of the shooter, Woodrow almost instantly saw that it had been the Town's local Sheriff to have shot down the mad dog. Smoke leaked out of the pistol's mouth, slowly disappearing into the dark of the night's sky and griming the appearance of the older man as he looked down at Raymond Pride's boy in disapproval._

_And it was then that Woodrow came to realize that he was truly in for it -_

"Are you chewing on the right hay straw there, Sheriff?" Pete asked suddenly, his voice arching in bewilderment as he gaped at Woodrow in slight confusion. Drawing the Sheriff out of his thoughts, he neared the younger individual.

Coming to his senses finally, Woody shook his head to clear his thoughts and blinked hard.

"Wha-" Woody began to stammer, his eyes widening in shock. "Oh - yeah, I'm all right Pete."

"You had me worried there for a minute, junior." Pete admitted earnestly, stopping to look at some interesting spectacle encrypted finely into the ceiling.

Sighing, Woody dismissed the provoking thoughts from his head and said: "Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Of course."

()()()()

The embers of a freshly worn hearth filled Jessica's senses and something within her cringed at the scent. Opening her eyes, she was met gingerly by the dim glow of the passionate flames licking ravenously at the walls of the gypsum fireplace hunkering a few yards away from her at the bedding of the room and she instantly thought of how peculiar it was to wake up to such a sight. The gentle flames of the blazing heat stirred up her thoughts, and she found her mind drifting off towards something completely off topic, like just how the hearth before her seemed to replicate tenderness when all she could remember of the times before were falling into the hands of the almighty dangers lingering through the world. As though something out there - something decent at that which wanted the best for the rest of the world - was guiding each movement and stammer of the heat's delicate descendants, with passion looming through each and every stray of the blazing masker of the dark at that. Like nectar of the light; sweet and powerful, just the right motions in the flickering flames to draw Jessie's thought elsewhere for the time being…

Just as her mind should have been reeling with the unfaithful memories of the messages sent in her previous state, it was only the memory she came across that now loomed within her thoughts, gently tugging at her soul's heart string. But not enough to hurt though, just enough to caress her spirits gently. Bringing forward tranquillity, settling atop her body's senses just like the words of the wise, her mind drifted soothingly. Like the whispers in the winds, she slowly pondered over that one very recollection that still left her insides tingling gently with static as the anticipation took over all of her nerves. One by one.

She thought of how wonderful it had been to feel her lips against his when she had pushed herself forward those eighteen months or so ago to the locking of the spirits. It had been like bucketing all her hopes and beliefs into something that would store each and every one of those living reminisces for eternity, keeping them as fresh as when they had been gently ushered forward. Like the promise of aspiration through the howling storms of the day, she had felt comforted at that connection. Almost as if all hope relied on it.

To feel so content during the days that clambered the world with the pessimistic knowledge of the daunting prospects was an extraordinary feeling to have course through one's nerves, and Jessie had felt exactly this on that day. A mere touch of his lips had told her that she had finally found someone else from life worth living for, and had told her what she had been hiding from herself for months. Not that she admired him of course, as she had known this from the very start, right from when she had caught sight of his eyes for the very first time. But that she had hid more from view than could meet the eye. It provoked the feelings within her and aggravated them to showing themselves to her. Simply just showing themselves where they truly belonged, that was all they did to her and ceased to comply with much else. But something within her told her that the sensations had been far more powerful than that.

Of course she had told herself this all before, too many times to count actually. But it failed to abide by her nagging conscience, as it was now as clear as daylight. It was love she felt for him, and it was the most powerful thing in the world. It wasn't like the connection she shared with her brother, because that connection was as thick as a chain in an entirely different way. No - it blinded her at times from focusing on what truly matters. Making her think stupid thoughts and damn right engage in idiotic doings, but it didn't suppress the affection nonetheless. She wasn't even sure if there was something out there that could, but a part of her was convinced that something would be able to if it tried hard enough. All it took was a matter of patience and determination; that was all it was.

When the hearth's heat flickered again, it stirred an instinct within her and she suddenly pressed her right hand to her lips. Her thoughts were lost now, and they weren't really directed towards anything. The air around her seemed almost made of cotton, a sudden thought made Jessie think. Almost as though her mind wasn't really awake yet, but her subconscious was. Peaceful as though she had just exited from a deep meditative state that left her spirits wandering in a state of calm tranquillity. She wasn't completely aware of anything, but she wasn't tired. To her, the entire sensation gave off the impression of awaking from a deep slumber she had been lost within for years. But she didn't feel like a large minority of her life had been wasted, which was strange actually.

Voices in her mind wandered aimlessly, not making any true sense whatsoever, and natural instinct made her drum the fingers of her right hand along the soft flesh of her lips. This, in itself, was also peculiar, because the feeling drifting down her arm felt odd. It tingled her giving her pins and needle and made her feel as though she hadn't moved any muscles in a while. But when she shifted slightly where she lay on her side, facing the fire's hearth, the rest of her body didn't feel this way. Her muscles ached when she moved, but they didn't seem to flutter. However, when she turned her nerves in her hands to the side, her movement seemed to have been as smooth as the gentle waves coursing through the harmonious bowels of the air, encrusted delicately with blissful optimism. Forged from the lost skies of course, because hopes exceeding the enforced boundaries were noted as foreign and were taken severely.

Her thoughts briefly staggered over the particular time a few months before where an air raid had rendered the nerves in her right wrist useless, but they didn't ponder over the aspect for long before her thoughts became objectified with just how the air lingering over her seemed to smell like roses. The embers of the fire burning reverently at the core of her blurred vision held a strong scent and coursed it directly through the air like toxic venom, but her own thoughts were beginning to bring back odd feelings and smells from her past. Wandering without much of a purpose, they stirred her conscience and brought back a vast torrent of memories she could only relate to being the really happy moments of her life.

_Suddenly she could smell the fresh air lingering through each and every corner of the world around her and she could feel the gentle winds brush against her cheeks teasingly as the enticing beauty of her surroundings sentimentalised her spirits. The brilliant orb in the sky shot down torrents of magnificence as currents of pure Nature lit up the ground, providing the light that the day cherished and banishing the dark that had already engulfed the rest of the world by this point. She was perched within the core of many plains of grass with her legs buckled under her hips, looking at her infant brother in amusement as he toddled towards her uneasily. Behind them, around one hundred yards into the distance, a barn stood, supported in the background by small towns and other cottages afar. And the barn was home to her, just like how she belonged in the small town's community, bringing forth the state of assurance needed to make one's soul complete when, outside of all the good things in life, the rest of the world suffered. She never gave these thoughts a second glance though, for she was quite uneducated when it came to these peculiar matters._

_Life was simple really, but she often considered these phrases to be provocatively concise. The southern countries of the western world were rather that actually. Bland, but not flavourless, just as the society around her had always been. Well - the threats sent by the international Government were rather irrational at times and sent across many messages, but Jessie preferred to remain dim-witted in this area. For she would rather allow the uninteresting mysteries to remain curiosities rather than waste her energy that could be put to good use. Of course, it'd be mainly to get herself into some trouble of her own by solving the most vigilant mysteries, but she honestly had to say that her Father shouldn't have expected anything less by now. Then again, it's not everyday one finds out that their daughter had built a crate stack out of wood and nails just to see how many hens would be willing enough to saunter on into it, as if they had no mind in the world. So, in all retrospect, Jessica did have to alter her perspective slightly, but the young girl was far more than willing to comply with her nagging urges rather then her provoking logic. And that had always been the case._

_She smiled at this thought, suddenly feeling proud of the previous week's actions made on her behalf. Of course, she hadn't set up any sort of prank deliberately; but by 'stack up the hen's, sweetie', she had somehow twisted the saying up in her mind into a direct commandment. And, going as obvious, the curiosity within her had been far too strong for her logic to control. Obviously, she had enjoyed it a lot._

_She had barely turned fourteen and her brother would be hitting the second year milestone next month, so their days were long and divine-filled. The worries in life hadn't associated themselves with the two yet, so she and Harold Saunders' were free to wallow in their own space. Exploring the days without a second thought and barely taking the time to cherish each moment as gold, the two had been as thick as thieves for some time now. And this metaphor applied to them quite literally._

_Jessie did almost everything with her young brother at her side, for he was hardly ever willing to leave her. Whenever she tended to the animals in the barn beside the small house she had grown ever so familiar with over the years, there he would be trying to follow her steps. Of course, he hadn't been able to fully function his coordination, rendering him useless when he tried to push himself to his feet. But he used to always clamber forward helplessly on all fours when it became apparent that his sister was about to leave and gave her those eyes she had never been able to resist. So for this reason exactly, Jessie would always be more than willing to have him watch her whilst she completed her own set chores for the weeks that passed._

_Closer than the words encrypted delicately onto ivory pages, they were. And the relationship between them had been strong for as long as the small toddler could even remember. Though, in Jessie's mind, she felt a bond this strong between them given the fact that she saw him as the last piece of her mother she had left. But she'd never admit this to Bullseye though, and she knew she never would._

_Reaching out with both of her upturned hands, she shifted herself backwards slightly as he approached. Her brother Harold was developing more slowly than she had at that age, as he was only beginning to walk and mumble a few sounds. But her subconscious wasn't even aware of this fact as she watched him stagger over towards her. Of course the first milestone was the hardest to cross. But Jessie believed that once he could walk fluently, he'd be racing the very winds themselves. Sure, she had no idea of why this was so, but that single characteristic seemed to be embedded into the young boy like the toxins of Satan's melodious drink._

_"Come on," She urged enthusiastically, her voice unusually peculiar as she flicked her fingers towards her. Ushering him forward. "Just a few more steps there, boy."_

_Guilt coursed through Jessie when she saw the expression etched upon his cherub-cheeked face, but she tried not to let this bother her too much for the moment. As the guilt turned into shame in the end and Shame was like the knock-on effect for a vast amount of human sensations. From where she sat, her legs bucked under her as she knelt on the grass, she observed his appearance. Dressed in hardly anything more than a pair of dungarees, like Jessie's but far smaller, and a plaid brown shirt, he didn't look like the regular town boy. And Jessie, she guessed, was grateful for this to some extent, but she'd never admit such a thing out aloud as it'd be entirely inappropriate._

_Despite his mood, determination became too strong a feeling to ignore and Harold stumbled those last few steps towards her. Stepping over the first of the milestone's, Jessie instantaneously lifted his off of his feet and into the air as she shot up like an electric charge. Turning like a loony and giggling uncontrollably, Jessie said: "You made it, boy!"_

_Of course, he felt slightly disheartened at her previous actions, though he couldn't help but grin ecstatically when he heard her optimistic comment. Eyes glistening as she lowered him down to his feet, his gaze faltered slightly, showing a sign of half-hearted contempt through his expression as he gazed up at her._

_Jessie had always known that Bullseye was a slow learner, from the very start the hunch had come to her like a natural impulse, but whatever he learnt encrypted into the back of his mind like an adhesive substance. Just itching to scald his thoughts completely, like a poison arrow. Sometimes he'd learn certain things faster than he'd learn others, very much like how he had come to understand others around him fluently before he had even brought himself to utter a single word - which he hadn't done as yet exactly - and relating to how he had learned to read the expressions of others before he had been able to mirror them properly in the appropriate situations. Of course, she thought nothing more of this, as everyone learnt at their own pace and caught up to the rest of society eventually. Despite that it had taken a while for her brother to get a knack of this whole coordination process, she had been patient towards him and levelled to his abilities for his comfort._

_Arching her brow-line to the skies and tossing back her eyes, Jessie had to suppress a giggle. When she had been his age, according to her Father, she hadn't been able to keep still and yet here Harold was pulling a face at the terrifying thought. It was very ironic in her opinion that she knew he'd be leaping across the plains of grass in a matter of months, but the idea never escaped her. All it took was a matter of time and patience. And where they were now, they had all the time in the world. For it only involved an amateur to pull out of a chore at the appropriate times._

_"I know it ain't your apple in the barrel, champ." She said simply, edging her voice for effect. "But you and I 'both' know that there isn't any other way around it."_

_As Jessie had noticed, unfortunately, his optimism at having attained his goal had died completely. And now the young boy seemed purely exasperated more than anything else. Trying to walk was just as painful to do as it was to watch, for his coordination had been imbalanced and every time he shifted in position, his vision shook. Of course he knew he would have to learn sooner or later, as he wanted to be able to move around freely like his sister when he was older. Which he wouldn't be able to get a hold of if he kept on crawling, but the learning process was hard and inconvenient for him. And Jessie knew this fully well._

_She cocked her expression and folded her arms across her chest when her brother's spirits remained robust. Like a chant in a chasm, it would continue on echoing until the barrier was forcefully set in place. And even then it would be reluctant, daring not to halt until its very last breath. Never stopping and never silencing until it had no other choice other than to give in to the higher power completely. And Harold, unfortunately for Jessie, could be just as stubborn as his older sister at times. Regrettably enough, Jessie now knew whom he attained his talents from._

_"Now, now, now there. Don't you be pulling those faces at me there, Bullseye boy." She told him, edging her voice to pull off the desired effect. His narrowed eyes and faltered expression reminded her of the horse in a story her mother had read her as a smaller child. Despite that it was disheartening; the story was Jessie's personal favourite due to the meaning behind the book's words. Stating that life was never perfect and that people will take advantage of others if the need arose, the story told the tale of a horse who had lived a miserable life because of his owner and the inability to stick up for himself. Well -from what Jessie could remember of it, the tale went like that, because she had heard the story long before her brother's existence._

_The ending of the story still remained remotely vague to her, but she could remember her mother telling her that the horse had exited revenge on his owner by breaking out of his boundaries and destroying every item of value Rusty had within line of vision when the bad forces of the world finally took over the horse's conscience._

_Of course, Jessie didn't frolic over this side of the tale when briefly coming up with the nickname for her brother, for her thoughts were only focusing on just how Harold's pout seemed to mirror the look on Bullseye's face in the visual illustrations of the story._

_However, Harold's face lit up completely when Jessie named him as such, as he found himself enjoying the term. Obviously he hadn't read the story himself, but something inside him leapt a mile and left him feeling utterly ecstatic. Over the moon in absolute joy as the optimism came fluttering back, he giggled uncontrollably when she lifted him off of his feet again, pulling a comical face of her own as she did so._

_"D'ya like that name there, boy?" She asked impishly, grinning. When he nodded helplessly, she took it as an obvious yes._

_And then the rest of that day went on with no worries to be fretted over. As the air the winds stirred towards them hadn't turned cold as yet._

_Five years later, the sound of rusty metal unlatching against alike material was heard and Jessie lifted her head to face the town's Sheriff. When her gaze was lifted, she instantly spotted the impish grin etched thoroughly upon his features and she cocked an eyebrow in a sense of half-hearted bewilderment._

_"Guess who got their say in the courting, lil' Missy." Woody Pride said with a voice edged in enthusiasm. Enlightening Jessie's senses almost instantly as her senses stiffened at his words._

_Mouth dropping agape, she stared at the Sheriff in disbelief for a few, long moments before her eyes followed example._

_"You serious?" Jessie asked in disbelief, her voice barely pulling over the washing currents of astonishment coursing endlessly through the barrels of her nerves. The Sheriff's words were tugging at a string near the back of her mind, and she suddenly felt slightly disoriented. Her subconscious leapt in joy, but the rest of her was having slight difficulty comprehending what had just been said._

_His sauntering grin widened further, responding to the Dead End's question without uttering a single word. Instead, slightly setting Jessica on edge, he let his actions speak for him as he opened the door to her cell wide - releasing her spirits from the damp and the cold of the stone walls of her penal and setting them free into the limelight of clairvoyance. Giving her spirits that one last urge before the chance was locked completely, Woodrow waited patiently as she rose to her feet in slight shock Still feeling reasonably puzzled, she stood there gaping at him for another few moments before coming to her senses when he nodded in her direction._

_Completely oblivious to the very person Woodrow had brought along with him, Jessie's spirits leapt that one last milestone and she bounded over to him in glee. She tackled him with a fierce hug and span around, burying her face in his chest by the time the two of them came to a halt. Tranquillity suddenly crested within her and she suddenly felt as free and as dynamic as a Mockingbird stalking the skies of the night with such enthusiasm. She honestly couldn't describe how she felt in words, for the feeling floundering through her was far too powerful._

_"Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you. Oh, thank you Woody!" She stammered all too quickly into his chest as she stifled a cry of relief. In itself, the entire ordeal was self-explanatory, as was Jessie's behaviour at the moment. The past few months had been hard for them both, as Jessica had come to unfaithfully notice, but she now felt like the Sheriff had set her free off the latch and into the liberty of the wilderness, setting her spirits emancipated._

_Natural shock had overridden Woodrow's senses, but he eventually came around to them and returned the embrace. In all honestly, he felt just as happy inside as Jessie had, though he hadn't' been very sure why. "Thank you so much." Jessie added when he shook his head unwillingly to clear his thoughts, her tone now low and soft. Like she meant each and every word with affection illustrated in her voice - just like she had. "I don't know how I could ever repay you…"_

_Suddenly, his smirk became impish. "I think we've gotten the message through with all the 'Thanks', Jessica." He said, about to step away to reveal someone else when Jessie added:_

_"Call me Jessie," She began, her smile faltering slightly as she locked her gaze on the floor. Abruptly, she lowered her hand and rummaged her fingers through his delicately. Unaware of the fact that she had caught him completely off guard as he gaped at her in bemusement, she lifted her gaze and smiled gently. "It makes me feel like myself again." Then, just as suddenly as she had touched his hand, she pressed her lips to his cheek and withdrew herself away. Her smile widening further._

_"Em-" The Sheriff began to stammer, suddenly very self-conscious of his racing heartbeat. For the first time in his life, he suddenly didn't know what to say. But instinct forced something out of him, and he became very grateful of this. "O-of course. As you wish."_

_Jessie remained still for another few moments as she locked eyes with his. Electric impulses collided with the wise timber bark and suddenly the whole forest was set on fire. Tugging at their heartstring's viciously, they held on to their hopes and kept the two of them alive in anticipation. Seizing the moment like it was the only natural thing to do. And Jessie possibly could have stayed where she was standing for a whole lot longer, slowly beginning to lean forward inch by inch as her heart's power over her senses took control, if something - someone she knew all so well - hadn't caught the corner of her eye._

_"Bullseye!" She gasped with widened eyes, clambering towards his level to embrace him fiercely._

_He had been waiting there with the Sheriff for a few moments now, and when he had caught sight of his sister and heard Pride's words, his spirits had been lifted to the heavens. And now, as Jessie held him against her chest and wove a hand through his greased hair, he could only return the hug to the best of his ability as Jessie whispered._

_"I'm so, so, so sorry Bullseye," She murmured against his skin as she held him as close to her as she could, the anxiety clearly illustrated through her every word. "I'm never going to let you out of my sight again. I promise I won't - I promise…"_

_Woodrow watched as she clenched her eyes shut, urging the tears not to fall as the guilt came streaming back to her hitting her core with force, and he came to sympathise with the two of them yet again. For they shared a bond he never wanted to break -_

She turned onto her side, but her movements were slow and disoriented like the dawning of day on a slow winter's night. Life to her suddenly began to feel so…light; almost like the lightest weight in the world had been compared to the densest material known to mankind. It just seemed to - she couldn't quite find anything that she could relate to the comparison, but all of a sudden she felt fatigued, and for the life of her she couldn't quite figure out why.

When she turned so that she was facing opposite the crystal hearth, she saw a patch of darkness shaped like a figure before her. She lowered her gaze and almost instantly caught sight of fifty-two cards made with paper and ink scattered out across the floor beside her. Only, they were precisely packed together numerically, and that was the first aspect to attract Jessie's attention strangely enough. And not only were they in numerological order, but the rows of numbers reaching from twos to the Aces were aligned in suit order with the reds being above the blacks.

It was strange, the sight was. Not only was she aware of who had done such a thing and who the figure was before her, cocking his head slightly in confusion, but she was also aware of the fact that such a thing shouldn't have been possible - for he had never learnt to recognize numbers digitally. And Jessie knew this for absolute sure.

But her mind went haywire eventually, and she had to blink away the confusion in order to see straight.

When her thoughts wavered off into the distance, her conscience followed closely behind.

…

When she awoke again, finally coming to her senses, the sight Jessie came across now seemed much more vivid and she cocked her brow-line slightly in bewilderment. Something outlandish to her suddenly began to dawn upon her thoughts and she abruptly began to feel out of place where she now lay. Like the howls of wind where the silence roams at that.

The room she was in now seemed remotely peculiar, but she didn't recall dropping off in a room any time recently. Which was oddly irregular of course, but it didn't come across as a major shock, just light-hearted confusion - well, Jessie thought it was this at least because she really couldn't be sure with herself here. Though the fresh ache dawning upon her now suggested she had been unconscious, and for an improper amount of time as well. Well - she hadn't entered the state of conscious thought for a prolonged period of time by now, so she had come to this conclusion at least. And she came to this fact without the need to question herself as she blinked away the forceful weight settling on her conscience.

Before her rested an ember lit fire, the hearth struggling to live on its one last gasp of oxygen before giving into the apparent higher powers of the situation and blinking out completely. Flitting continuously against the stone backed walls, ghosting her eyes in discomfort, the vigilant flames periled her sight and she snaked the rays away by shutting her eyes tightly and shifting her position to rest on her back.

That was strange, she soon thought. She most certainly hadn't fallen unconscious in this spectacle of a room, and yet she felt she had been housing in here for days when another part of her felt like she had been conscious of it all for longer than she could physically recall. Almost as if - well, she couldn't really find the term that could relate to how she felt now because her thoughts just felt so…hazy and conspicuous. Like they were clearly in reach, but too far away for Jessie's sight to call yonder. It was almost as if she was trying to reawaken her senses after a long meditative sleep and she was trying to remember what it was that she had been fretting about so forcefully in the first place; almost - well, like coming back to life in a body she hadn't been the host of for many days. It takes time to master the moves fully.

The theory was a long stretch in her mind by far, but she just couldn't help herself at this moment in time because the dreadful feeling just couldn't be shaken away like the usual stir of the thoughts. Whatever the lingering sensation was, it was powerful. And most certainly misleading. The ghosting sliver of the winds at that.

The ceiling above her head was made of stone, like all the interior designs of buildings in these days. Well - on the account of most at least. She could tell this at first sight, but it took her longer to decide where she truly might have been. Before the recollection came streaming back to her of course -


	11. The Essence of the Day

Chapter Ten

"It's got to be right under our noses, Sheriff." Pete said at the beginning of their sixth day in Area Eight. His senses had been hammered in over the last few days, and now his instinctive compass was sending him all over the place in search for something he had no hope of identifying. It could be right under their noses, directly in front of their heads, in plain sight - and most importantly the place could be of any shape and size. Extensive enough to house maybe fifty fugitives or barely enough to hide half a dozen or so cowards who had been hiding from the law for countless years - it was impossible to tell. And this was driving him ballistic, as well as throwing the Sheriff over the wall completely. But, as usual, Pete had been completely oblivious to this as always. "I know it's gotta be around 'ere some'ere, but I just can't get the spur on the boot with that."

By now Pete was muttering to himself uselessly, trying to come to a particular conclusion that still continued to remain perched far beyond his reach. They had returned back to District Four that day from District Six with no luck to be found on their behalves. In the space of only six days, they had contacted all stations to identify any possible sightings of suspicious activity, with no results, and had searched all the Districts that had protruded against all other activity and had found nothing. Now, Woodrow only felt aggravated at the thought of checking any other areas with Pete's sense of direction.

"Have you even checked the nearby areas yet?" Woodrow asked simply, resting against the desk at the far side of the rather desolate room. At his side, the empty cell stood, rather empty and innate from his perspective. His gaze was locked on the stone floor below and, for the first time in a while, the spectacles of dust seemed rather peculiar to him. "If it's going to be in plain sight, then you wanna check the buildings in this District first thoroughly."

Strangely enough, this idea didn't comply with Pete's sense of logic as yet and he continued with his dazed murmurs. "Maybe if we headed a'yonder to District Twelve and had a sturdy look there." Of course, Woody was more than willing to object to this idea instantaneously, but he knew better than to insult an elder - especially with his upbringing turning his mind over and over day after day. "We haven't been there yet, and the lawmen in that area didn't seem so certain when we called them over the wireless."

They had risked using radio communications to contact other Sheriff's in the Area, but Woodrow had found the hazards rather liberal. Clearly, he could remember what had happened when the borderline officer had called him around eight days before hand, so he had to think twice before making the risk. And yet, they had still found nothing. But Pete still felt as determined as usual.

"And if we head into that District, maybe we'd be able to have a spick-an'-span idea of where that varmint Davies might be." Pete murmured waveringly. Again, he stood scanning the map of the area with flitting eyes. His thoughts weren't really concentrated on anything, but his eyebrows were furrowed in the way that made him seem as though he had been lost in deep thought.

Sighing in a sense of unenthusiastic exasperation, the Sheriff lifted his gaze and allowed his expression to falter. "Y'know, it might be more useful to check the buildings around here first. "God knows how many of them we have in this District." However, Pete still didn't respond to his own words. He still seemed lost in his own metaphorical world as he continued on murmuring indistinctively to himself.

In annoyance, Woodrow approached the Bounty Hunter swiftly as he rolled his eyes to the back of his head. "Pete -" He ushered, trying to break Pete out of his trance-like state. He now stood at Pete's side, and the former Prospector still didn't answer his calling. For a brief moment, the Sheriff could only hope that Smith hadn't forgotten his name again, but dismissed the thoughts quickly. "Pete!"

"W-what?" Pete exclaimed in shock as he drew himself away from his state. Though he had been stood at the table beside the office's entrance, the map of the District was dropped clumsily onto the floor and he staggered backwards in bewilderment. Quickly snapping his gaze back to the Sheriff, his eyes widened. "Don't charge up on me like that! I swear that young men like you these days are just out there to give old folk' like me heart attacks." Breathless, Pete plummeted to the floor and brought the map together by its sides. Standing up, he commented: "Sometimes I swear you're just like your father you."

Woodrow, who had taken a step back to give Pete some cherished personal space, felt his heart clench at Pete's words and cocked his head to the side slightly. "My father?"

"Yeah," Pete merely answered. "He was always out there determined to get into other peoples' space where he hadn't half a right being."

"No…" Woodrow felt flustered. "I mean - you actually knew him?"

"Why sure I did, Sheriff. Who else do you think didn't know the most standard executioner?"

Somehow, Pride felt like he had been caught off guard. Though he had no idea why this might have been so, the feeling remained persistent and he just couldn't bring himself to shake it off for the life of him.

"I thought he was the head of the Law Regulations." Woodrow admitted simply, feeling quite precautious. "I mean - he dealt with all the court sentences and what not. Until I was in my mid teens of course and he became a Sheriff of the main stations in Area Five."

"Oh, but he opted to be the executioner of the worst of the worst in that Area, where the vilest Dead End's are kept. Might I say, he only had three Dead Ends to his name, but it's who he executed and not how many that counts."

Woodrow's eyebrows cocked, "Long Runs'?"

"You betcha, Sheriff." Pete said, straightening his posture out. "Raymond was most noted for that. Surely you musta' know, boy."

"No…" Woody felt flabbergasted. "I must admit I did not."

"We worked together back then as well," Pete went on to say. "He would give me an area to search and I knack every single corner of it down to the skin of the snake's teeth. O'course, I was only a tad younger back then, but Raymond went onto to trust me so much that, when he retired, he even handed me his signature colt revolver."

Now, Woodrow merely gazed at the Bounty Hunter in disbelief.

"No, seriously." Pete ushered, reaching into his dungarees to pull out a rusted pistol, its barrel protruding from its hind quite profoundly. He handed it to Pride, who turned it around in his hands with a bland stare. This was the gun he had once caught his father tucking into his work coat once, and he knew this for sure because Raymond's initials were inscribed clearly onto the gun's handle. "Your ole' pa handed this to me when he became Sheriff. Their not supposed to have their own weapons on the job, y'see. And Raymond saw no need to keep it once he got to that age."

Woodrow continued to stare at it as though it had been made of black gold. Somehow, it felt like having a piece of his father back and he didn't know what on Earth to make from it. Turning it over in his hands again, feeling the cold steel tickle his skin menacingly, he lifted his head and asked: "He really killed those Long Runs with this?"

"You got that right, Sheriff." Pete said gleefully, smirking slightly. "Eight bullets in that gun and it's never been loaded twice."

"Who was the last?"

"I'm sorry."

"Who was the last Long Run he killed?"

"Oh, that was Robert Saunders'." Woodrow's gaze didn't falter. "Apparently so, that varmint didn't struggle one bit. Followed his escorts without shouting one darn profanity, and died silently. Teaches him right though for screwing up the blasted country. After the Holocaust of 0'seventeen, he was the one who tried to keep all the vital information away from the press. He wasn't even a member of the old Government according to your ole' man Raymond, but he got his business stuck where it shouldn't be. And - well - he didn't turn out so fine and dandy."

Woody was about to speak up, but hesitated for a very brief moment and pondered simply. "Did - did my father know any of them personally?"

"Why, I don't think so, Sheriff. Why would you ask that?"

"Well - it's just…" He paused momentarily. "It's just he often mentioned that he had been betrayed by a personal friend who was eventually shot." Woody blinked hard and thought. "Do you know what that means?"

"No, boy." Pete answered, now slightly on edge. "I must say I don't."

Silence hung for a few moments, but the Sheriff tried his best to shake the uneasy feelings off.

"Well - never mind. Have you checked this District properly yet?"

"I'll get around to it eventually." Pete said until a sudden thought struck him. "I know what. I'll call in some patrollers to search here and nearby town's."

()()()()

_"I can't do this anymore," She stammered uselessly, her weak voice wavering. Her facial expression twitched slightly, and she forced the provoking sensations away from her mind. "I mean -" She stopped in her tracks and gazed at the Sheriff helplessly as they stood outside of the shelter's doors. The night was colder than she had expected, and she was now hugging herself to maintain body heat. "It's killing him."_

_"I know it ain't good for either of you two here, Jess. I swear I do." Woodrow Pride told her simply, his voice faltering slightly. "But you're getting the best of the blows here."_

_She stepped backwards and eyed him cautiously, daring not to believe what she had been told. Incredulity suddenly intoxicated her senses and she felt confused. The heat of the moment had obviously taken its toll upon her as she couldn't even make sense of her own thoughts, leaving her feeling bare and vulnerable as she gaped at the Sheriff in pure disbelief. Obviously, she knew as little about his morals as he did with hers, and this was made clear by the way her nerves spiralled irrepressibly within her._

_"What in the world are you on about?" She demanded harshly, straddling herself against the cold night as she directed her gaze away from a sight her heart could have done without. The timber wood of her heart was being dampened by the vicious waters of the dawning day, and now her spirits were threatening to break apart in apprehensive fear. How could he, of all people, possibly claim that?_

_"Your life could be a heck of a lot worse." Woodrow told her, clenching his insides to keep himself from breaking up completely. A distinctive part of him hated to tell her this, but the rest of him stirred the encrypted logic right into place. "And you know it."_

_She went hysteric at his words, and her expression suddenly snapped. "Don't you even dare bring that up." She warned, a voice like venom. Needless to say, the accusations were the last things she needed at this moment in time. But he just didn't seem to understand that, and this only charred her thoughts to an even greater degree. Dangerous waters were being entered, and the tide was about to turn the tables on the gentle currents at any moment. "Don't. You. Dare."_

_Woodrow too was blinded as his nerves topped and turned against his train of thought, and his morals suddenly went haywire. "You shouldn't take your luck for granted, Miss Jane." He said, and something within her edged at the term of that name he used. It made her feel like a stranger in her own life - for the name she had been born with was a disgrace to the world and the G.E was desperate enough to do anything to abolish it. Even handing her and her brother their late Mother's maiden name as a result. "You know what would have happened if they hadn't been persuaded to change their minds."_

_Oh yes, she knew it of course. She had been fortunate indeed and she had escaped with her life. If they hadn't been convinced that terminating the pure hearted soul for something that had done at such a young age would have been unlawful, and would have effectively caused a religious outbreak when word got out to those faithful, then her life would have already been cut short by now. And both of them knew this to heart. In simplistic words, if he hadn't been there with her during her desperate time of need, then the General Escorts would have executed her by this point and the same fate would have awaited her brother too._

_Though a part of her was grateful, the rest of her asked the cautious question that shouldn't dare be pondered over: Would the Fates play the charade in the same way when Bullseye became applicable for imprisonment? Or would the G.E turn the ethics of the situation around again before he reached that point? These were the dangerous questions, and they plagued her mind like an ailment as he gaped at the Sheriff in utter bewilderment._

_"W-what did I just say, Woody?" She asked helplessly at the loss for something else decent to say. Not only was she sightless, but her thoughts were also spiralling off in unknown directions, therefore branding them useless. The passionate clairvoyance of her pure-bred soul had died down into something faint, and now she couldn't identify his true morals and she could no longer track down the purity of his spirits anymore. It was dreadful, and she could barely withstand the ache of her broken heart. "I-I told you not-"_

_"I know what you said, Jessica." He told her, his voice firm and unfaltering as he pushed aside her inaudible pleas for the last trace of compassion within him. "But you fully well know that you're getting the best you can out of the situation. Everybody has their role to play and sometimes the only way through it is to pull up your stockings and shut up."_

_She scowled in disgust and countered: "But they can't do this to a young boy. Especially one with his condition; it's killing him."_

_"Look," Woodrow said simply, emphasising his words with great strength. "I know it seems hard, but you have to learn that there ain't any other way around it -"_

_She snapped. "You have no idea what it's like, Woody! They were about to sentence me to death for something so darn pathetic and poor Bullseye had been terrified." Of course, he hadn't been told of the crime she had been found guilty of. But she intended to keep it that way, so continued on. "He would have been left alone to rot and he could sense it coming. You don't know how hurt he is inside Woody, and you don't even give a damn."_

_Natural impulse softened his nerves, and he suddenly became morally sympathetic. "You know that's not true."_

_"Then why are bad things happening to him, then?" She questioned harshly, her voice threatening to break as she looked at the Sheriff with a sense of dismay trapped within the electrical charges her eyes sent floundering forward. "If you're the Sheriff, then why aren't you keeping the town safe?"_

_Of course, her words turned the balance on his outgoing instincts and made his thoughts irrational again. Striking a nerve that shouldn't dare be touched, his eyes narrowed perilously. "Giving you or your brother insufficient rights have been restricted, Miss Jane." He answered her simply, something within him adding the insult to the injury. "You were given a second chance not many others get, so they aren't going to turn a blind eye to everything you do."_

_Obviously they wouldn't turn a blind eye to it, just like they hadn't done since she'd been released. Forced into a hazardous line of work, both she and her brother had found themselves rooting for critical resources underground where many tunnels of mineshafts met underground, being joined together at the cities centre. Jessie, herself, had barely been able to handle the epidemic conditions. However, it had tampered with a whole different level for Bullseye and each and every day she could see him getting worse. And it purely horrified Jessie, to an extent she couldn't even begin to illustrate._

_"Don't you get it?" The final nerve was being fiddled with. "Woody, he'll die if we can't stop it." She sounded truly broken at this, leaving her shattered._

_"What do expect me to do about it?" He asked expectantly, as though she actually had the faintest idea. It was painfully clear that Woodrow was actually of no position to detest the ways of the General Escorts. Even though he was the son of a late member of the G.E, his apprehension of the Western World's rulers was still severe. In fact, his personal status only made him far more aware of the General Escorts doings. And it was purely horrifying, especially when he was aware of just exactly how many people lost their lives due to the proceedings of many shocking executions. He had already pushed the limit by ushering his opinion forward, stating that he thought continuing with the execution of Jessica Jane would be both unlawful and morally incorrect, and daring to speak up again would break all known boundaries. And if he wasn't careful with what he did from now on, then the G.E could turn suspicious eyes. "You know as well as I do that I am in no position to be complying to your pleads. "_

_Jessie remained silent, but her insides screamed at him with malicious intentions._

_"And besides," He went on to say. "It ain't my business to pull you out of the crap you got yourself into."_

_She merely snapped and, at a loss for anything appropriate to do, she charged off through the streets._

_"Jessica!" The Sheriff found himself calling after the young redheaded girl, suddenly feeling very anxious as the nineteen-year-old passed the doors of the shelter, making her way through the dimly lit dirt-road street without daring to even think twice - as that would only aggravate her completely. A precipitous stir in the trailing winds lifted the hairs on his body up in defence as the night became cold, and the Sheriff became desperate when faced with no other choice but to follow her. No-one below his own ran had disobeyed his orders before after becoming Sheriff of the District, and the fact that this girl was disregarding him completely only irked him to an even greater extent. "You can't do this!"_

_His mind had developed over the years, and this made itself clear in an everyday basis. However, the simplest aspects of life still struck him as utterly bizarre and for his own goods sake; he couldn't bring himself to fully understand why. And her morals - well - they were just completely uncoordinated. Why would she want to put herself at stake in such a way after being released from the hands of confinement? He would often ask himself this, but the conclusion he came to was always the same: Indecipherable. He could never make any sense of it._

_No matter how hard he tried to rearrange the wording of the question around, or how long he worked on it, it didn't make the slightest difference. Stirs in his thoughts would veer his train of logic off guard and leave him clueless. Wiping out his senses completely and leaving them blind to the magnificent truth of the larger picture. As the narrow section of his mind was always far too compressed to even have the slightest chance of being able to manoeuvre his thoughts around the question to piece the answer together in the back of his mind, he always felt this way._

_In other words, the blood of a General Escort was far more contagious than he could've possibly imagined. And both the former Dead End and the Sheriff had come to this realization by now. He had been born to ridicule the smaller powers of the world, just like a General Escort. It was blood and instinctive passion - until the end._

_Her heart suddenly stopped dead in its tracks and her nerves were abruptly set ablaze in absolute frustration. A smaller part of her wanted to scream out to the Sheriff - and this was exactly what she did._

_-How can you do this to us?-_

_Alike the Sheriff, she didn't understand the other's morals. And no matter how hard she could try - no matter the extent to which she could hurt herself, as this would never matter - she couldn't see why he was the way he was. Didn't he realize that he effectively had a choice? He could escape the country and travel south in the matter of a few days, where the area was entranced with the natural beauties of the world she wished she could dive straight into the middle of. Being a former Sheriff of Area Five, District Eleven, no one in their right minds would try to question him or get in his way if he decided that he simply needed to cross the barrier lines of the country. And there was nothing to stop him from pushing himself further once he was across it, and they both knew this fully well. He could escape and live the dreams he had yearned to reach, and he could finally be free of the provoking rules and restrictions, just as he had wanted to be for so long._

_Instead of facing this world day after day, Jessie eventually came to convince herself, he could flourish in the rest of the world's beauty by simply leaving. He could live in freedom and flounder in excellence. And all it would take to accomplish this was for him to get this idea past himself. But this was the hardest part, as Jessie had come to realize. For a Sheriff had a heart to use, unlike all other officer's in the modern day and age, but this wasn't even finding half the work; as the Sheriff had one but, in reality, finding out where it truly lies had always been the tricky part. And now - well - neither of them knew where it was._

_Her eyes narrowed as she turned around, stopping dead in her tracks, towards him and the Sheriff suddenly became very self-conscious of himself. Should he really be reacting to her ideas and her plans in this way? He asked himself now, his thoughts beginning to wander aimlessly. Or would it be best to arrest her for treason and let the authorities deal with her? He pondered over this heavily, but always came to the same conclusion: It was almost an impossible decision to make. Let her walk away in such an obvious way, and then he could risk getting them both shot if she was found. Deal with the treason the way he should, then he didn't think he'd ever forgive himself. Or he could simply force them through it the way a Sheriff should and force them through the work that would probably exhaust her brother to death by the end of it, but he didn't think she'd ever forgive him for that. And, with the way things had been going lately between them, he didn't think he could live that long if that had been the case._

_A stir in his thoughts brought his reeling mind onto another matter when coming into line with her stone-like gaze, edging him over the deathly drop with no landing in sight. Did she honestly understand just how extreme treason was in this world? He wondered unconsciously, slightly aware of the fact that she must have been reading his thoughts at that time in the meanwhile. A wrong word at the wrong time can send an innocent individual to their deaths if they were careless with their tongues. It was a known fact actually. Well - for him it had been anyway, especially given that he'd once been a Sheriff of the worst station of them all. He had seen many criminal reports in his time, a fair majority of them belonging to Dead Ends who had, fortunately for the rest of Society, already lost their lives by this point in time. He had no idea of what Jessica had done to find herself in such a position - though he knew it was fairly serious - in the first place, but he could make a pretty decent guess of what it might have been: Treason of course. A drop of evidence leading towards treason would have a man shot in the matter of a few days. Thieves, first class murderers, those who had spoken their minds at the wrong time, political opponents… They were all charged of the same crime, but this didn't even meet a fraction of the ultimate list._

_Death was the worst fear of them all in this society, and this provocative aspect of life now plagued the minds of Woodrow Pride and Jessica Jane, as the whole dispute they were being plummeted into revolved partially on the simple matter. Since everything else to fear had already been faced or eradicated in this world, the thoughts of Death were the worst thoughts of them all. And both of them knew this._

_Jessica read his thoughts, just like she had always been able to, and felt her heart falter. A part of her tried to speak at this moment in time, but another part of her just physically couldn't, like a strong contradiction pulling its weight on her heart. And it hurt, badly._

_"Woody!" She retorted, her voice threatening to crack as her expression drooped. She didn't understand why he wouldn't just leave her to it, was there something to this all he hadn't told her of yet? She couldn't help but wonder as she panted ridiculously for breath, her anxiety beginning to settle in as she gaped at the superior in shock. "Why won't you just listen to me?"_

_Something within him kept him from answering for a brief moment, but then the common instinct of a Sheriff overrode him instantly. A gust in his thoughts with the ultimate potential to snap her heart into half a thousand pieces. Venom in the world where dirt was the least of the young girl's problems._

_"You are defying them with every chance they gave you!" He stated firmly, speaking with authority when it was clear that Jessica Jane (the girl who had no choice other than to change her name when imprisoned) had no intention of following the law. Maybe he should have known that this would have drawn the line earlier than he had? Or maybe he should always just wait for the mental scalding before coming across the mistake in his actions? He often wondered this, as this would all break his spirits soon enough - earlier than he had imagined actually._

_Unknowingly stepping towards him, her eyes flashed from shock to exasperation. She honestly couldn't understand this. Why couldn't he just read her morals? This wasn't to protect herself by any means, as she'd happily break herself into pieces if it would protect her brother from the same type of torture. Especially being as young as he was. But the General Escorts didn't work like that. They allowed the rich and the obedient to live and those poor as well as the untrustworthy to suffer the provoking consequences. A life was no life unless they had something to offer the almighty powers that had taken over the country decades before to revive the broken country into something better than the chaos that had erupted throughout the whole of the Western World - though to no avail of course, since things only worsened from then. And the people of Society were convinced that the only people left to blame after this were the ten individuals who had been marked on their lists._

_To simplify matters briefly, the chain had only weaved on from here, leading to the sentences and the deaths of hundreds of other individuals. Hunting every single person with the blood and the trust of a traitor down within an instant without a second hesitation to be made. This, to state the obvious, was apparent to one of the two individuals standing within the midst of the dirt-tracked street during the settling of night, but the only one who could truly make a difference in this situation was clueless to this fact._

_Naturally, distress crested within her. Leaving Jessie to feel purely desolate inside and worthless, never to come to the conclusion she needed to heave her spirits from the crater of melancholy and into the limelight of the natural day. That the Sheriff really would understand her morals and help her like no other person had in a long time. Though these prolonging hopes were only ever to slip down the drain when the optimistic became pessimistic._

_Shaking her head in frustration, it was hard for Jessie to keep the idealistic emotion from seeping into her eyes as she retorted these next words:_

_"Defying them?" She questioned sternly, a sense of bewilderment etched finely into her callous words. Her words pulling off the desired effect when the Sheriff's gaze narrowed in half-hearted shock. "I'm defying them?" She asked again, her cold voice refusing to coordinate with the Sheriff's words. They simply didn't make sense. When the look in her eyes faltered again, rage overtook her, leaving her senses bare. "The damn rules shouldn't exist in the first place!"_

_His eyes widening to their extent, the Sheriff felt his nerves align the deathly edge. Words like those were what had led hundreds to their deaths. And Jessica Jane had already escaped death once, so falling free from the hands of Demise a second time was an impossibility. The General Escorts were only ever willing to listen to a certain extent before jumping to an indefinite conclusion; one of which was almost always fatal if anything. And her words were defying them completely. One word heard of that would lead to her death instantaneously._

_"Jessica-" The Sheriff urged, his anxious voice threatening to break as he kept the tone in his voice discreet._

_"What kind of rules are they?" She retorted solemnly, pushing aside Woodrow's plea. If the Sheriff hadn't been so dazed, then he would have had half a mind to interrupt her in an instant. Her words were leading to the truth though, as Pride came to realize now. The truth the Sheriff had wanted to avert. "They're going to exhaust a young, helpless child to death. And anything I can do about it will have us shot."_

_By now her tone had sunk and the Sheriff's found his heart aligning her words, sinking pointlessly when the chilling vocals struck his core. Under normal circumstances, Woodrow Pride wouldn't have felt any sympathy for the young woman before them, as being forced into labour was considered as only normal. The peasants of the towns always had their children work out of schooling hours, whilst the richer kept their children at home. Children with the blood of a General Escort, however, were privileged and, along with the children of the rich, wouldn't be forced to work until the stage of adulthood. Nineteen years, two months and nine days effectively, this was also when a Dead End became legible to face death._

_"Jess, there's no other choice about it -"_

_"But they don't even give a damn!" Jessie suddenly found herself exclaiming, her spirits shattering upon the deathly realisation. Not that she had expected anything different to speak the truth, but the knowledge was unnerving. Far more than she could have imagined. Then, out of nothing more than pure desperation, she asked: "Why don't they care?"_

_When her words made themselves apparent to the Sheriff, Woodrow Pride found himself unable to utter a single word of useful advice to settle the young girl down. By today's standards though, she was as much of an adult as he was, but the childlike edge in her features told a different story. She may have aged, but the scars from her teenage years would always burn on - though even he wasn't sure why. Maybe her scars were like the ones that had been torn into him when his father died? He would often ask himself this, even despite the fact that he was aware he'd never come to a conclusion of any sort. Perhaps the scars had been inflicted unfairly? He often wondered, though his was yet another hopeless question to ask, as it would get him absolutely nowhere._

_Feeling slightly disoriented, Woodrow Pride brought himself around to speaking up._

_"Jessica." He ushered in desperation, trying to amount all the higher matters of this situation to quieten her down to an extent. Indecipherable words like the one's she had just spoken were often what had led to the deaths of hundreds. A mouth as careless as hers was dangerous for the both of them, and ultimately fatal. "-We're not supposed to be talking about them like this-"_

_Discarding his saying instantly, unnerving the Sheriff to a greater extent, Jessie's expression faltered, flitching endlessly. Now that she seemed more angry than shocked, Woodrow Pride could only hope for the best…_

_"Then what are they going to do?" She asked expectantly, scoffing, her words like hot ice. Impaling into the Sheriff's senses before scalding everything in sight. "Shoot me without asking a question or even making sure I'm guilty of something first?"_

_His eyes growing wider in shock, the Sheriff tried to step forward and reach out, only to surprise himself when the girl stepped away. Nothing he could say would be able to soothe the smoke clouding her nerves, just moments away from smothering her completely. It might have been the strenuous shock of the situation playing on his senses - or…something else… - because his heart suddenly shattered into pieces when he saw the look etched across her face. Partial loath and full on exasperation, as well as something else he had difficulty making out, rolled into one. Painful, but yet freezing the fires of his broken heart into place._

_"Jessica! You can't be talking about them like that!"_

_"What's the point of even trying to please them Woody?" She questioned the superior in the situation expectantly, her voice becoming blank. For she honestly couldn't see the point. It was lost behind all the worthless charades that had been taunting her mind endlessly for days on end, buried deep within the depths of the torture she dared not to enter. "That seems to be the only thing they care about."_

_Exasperation shouldn't have played its effect upon the Sheriff at this moment in time, as it did not help him any further. But then the almighty powers screaming within him dropped when he saw the look of helplessness protruding along her facial features. It really was no surprise to him that her emotions were flickering continuously, as she had been acting in this way for days._

_"Jess…" He murmured hopelessly, seemingly searching thoroughly for the words of comfort that would never be uttered aloud. For comfort and easy-spirits were both unheard of in this situation. Both as impossible as each other to find. "You know why."_

_When her spirits shattered completely, the Sheriff was not left oblivious to it -_

_"Then why don't you let them do it?" She asked sternly, her question tugging on Woodrow's final heart string. Maybe she didn't fully realize just how concern he was for her? Or how he had almost fallen for her over the course of the last few years when coming across the unnatural vibrancy of her soul? Or just how his insides had soared to the concealed heavens when she had pushed herself forward to the locking of the lips only ten days before this night? The man with the broken heart could only ponder. "And then see if I care!"_

_"Jess -" He muttered uselessly, his voice only cutting itself off when his entire system crashed down on him. The world suddenly seemed blurred and foggy, barely making enough sense to the curious eye; just how Jessica had began seeing the world after the day her whole life caved in. The day her hopes had fled and her dreams had fallen. Pure melancholy as its best in other words… "You don't want to get yourself down that line again…"_

_Her face fell instantaneously, and this was when her broken spirits suddenly became apparent. He could feel the awkward vibrancy emitting through the air, and this tugged at him further._

_The world was distant to her, and Jessica didn't understand it. Why was one thing bad when something else was good? It was these simple differences that left her to ponder in the unearthly silence. Because they just didn't make sense. That much was sure._

_Speaking aimlessly, she asked: "Why do you even care?"_

_Shaking his head glumly, the Sheriff stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. Shouldn't she know this by now? He asked himself plainly._

_"Jess, I think you know." He told her solemnly. But she only snapped to her senses._

_Forcing the man away from her, she looked heartbroken as she exclaimed:_

_"It's not fair!" She exclaimed frightfully, her voice breaking at what was left of her heart crumbled uselessly. Her eyes cold… "How can you let them do this to us?"_

_Naturally, the Sheriff was shocked. The morals behind her motives were hard to understand and, no matter how hard he could have tried, they simply didn't make sense. However, it was easy to tell that they were hidden there, behind her thoughts like the timber of wood, just waiting for that last spark of reassurance before it burned down a whole city. Almost like Jessie was the blue flame herself. Feed her one little twig, and she'd bring her life down with her, just as she was trying to do now._

_People had warned him that getting involved with a Dead End was bad news. Officers all about had told him that getting his thoughts muddled up because of such a disgrace would only get him seduced. She was a woman after all, and all woman should know that they're no good at anything unless it came to housework and community gathering - according to most men in this Society at least. So this girl here could be intentionally getting her own back on the world by trying to win over the Sheriff before taking everything she had. Of course, he tried not to believe such things, as she didn't seem like the kind of person who would do that. But he'd been thinking lately, and that intimate act between them only ten days before now struck him as odd. And he could never halt his thoughts when it came to it, for he had been told many a time that she'd only get in his pants to lead him astray and he dreaded coming across this matter as he tried not to believe it one bit._

_Instead, he brought his thoughts over to the motives of the situation. Orders had been followed and good deeds had been done. So exactly why was she upset? His state of obliviousness seemed to draw the only thin line between dividing logic from instinct and, as he knew, allowing an instinct to lead oneself can sometimes be quite lethal._

_As clear in his world, logic overruled nature always. So a firm voice encrypted within the very back of his mind told him as much as he needed to know. A 'very' convincing voice._

_"Well I do apologize if this ain't your apple in the hatch Miss Jane." The Sheriff, older than her by at least two or three years, responded. It only came as expected for him to receive a glare due to his words, but his own tone was mutual. "But there's no way around it with your stupid schemes this time. It has to be done. There simply is no other way around it."_

_The shock settled in, and she soon found herself unable to even remember where she was. She was somewhere cold though - that was obvious enough. The cold air scratching her exposed flesh made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the words sunk into her skin, and deeply, imploding in on themselves in rushing torrents of despair and aching venom. Her shattered heart sent a knock-on effect coursing through her body, curling her fingers into fists and narrowing her shocked gape into a deathly glare. The toxins running through her veins boiled into heated anger as her tolerance veered off edge._

_"Then why aren't 'you' helping us?" She demanded irrationally, tossing the verbal grenade that shouldn't dare be unclipped, striking his core like a toxic dagger. Her common sense no longer was apparent as her noxious voice sunk into bland nectar. Nothing dared to make sense to her, and this messed with her mind. Even the crisp desolation of the area around her seemed artificial, making her feel empty inside. Or was empty too simple a word to match the feeling that really overrode her senses? It didn't seem dense enough to fill the hole within her that had been ripped out of her by forces 'much' stronger than herself._

_His own glare narrowed into a half-hearted gaze riddled with detest towards ignorance. Something he had never felt before became alit in a sudden flare of exasperation, overpowering his core. And the warmth within his entrancing eyes suddenly vanished, instead being replaced with ice. His logic seemed to demolish whatever sense his heart usually gave off as fondness snapped into loathe._

_His answer though, surprising her slightly, didn't dare compare with his look._

_"You know why this is Jessica." He stated firmly, his voice distant but firm. "Besides," He added, his synthetic colours unravelling throughout his tone. "It ain't my job to sort through the shit you landed yourself into."_

_His answer failed to catch her glare off guard, but he ceased to recognize the way her heart sank in place. Or did it shatter to an even further degree? Jessica was way too stunned to tell the difference. But her next words did as her icy glare was set alight in perishing flames._

_"You faggot." She found herself countering huskily, her voice low but lethal. She could tell that a sense of desolation had been etched finely into each and every one of her words, but she could honestly care less about bringing this into consideration as she felt the cold air of the night taunt her skin menacingly, settling her distraught nerves on edge. "You absolute piss-take." Her words were firm this time around but far off, even for her._

_-Odd- She soon thought. -But true-_

_Her eyes drifted shut as she felt the awful sensations sink into her core. Anger. Bewilderment. Disbelief. Grief. Heartbreak… All rolled into one; making her next words as harsh and as irrational as ever._

_"Just 'stay' away from us." She uttered sternly, before desperation finally added: "I hate you."_

_…_

_Then her mind drifted off towards something completely foreign to her - a moment she had not come to live with adaptable eyes as yet - and her subconscious began to dwell on something unbeknownst to her. Leaving her unsettled, something familiar but yet oddly distant filled Jessica's sight._

_The embers of a freshly worn hearth filled Jessica's senses and something within her cringed at the scent. Opening her eyes, she was met gingerly by the dim glow of the passionate flames licking ravenously at the walls of the gypsum fireplace hunkering a few yards away from her at the bedding of the room and she instantly thought of how peculiar it was to wake up to such a sight. The gentle flames of the blazing heat stirred up her thoughts, and she found her mind drifting off towards something completely off topic, like just how the hearth before her seemed to replicate tenderness when all she could remember of the times before were falling into the hands of the almighty dangers lingering through the world. As though something out there - something decent at that which wanted the best for the rest of the world - was guiding each movement and stammer of the heat's delicate descendants, with passion looming through each and every stray of the blazing masker of the dark at that. Like nectar of the light; sweet and powerful, just the right motions in the flickering flames to draw Jessie's thought elsewhere for the time being…_

_She turned onto her side, but her movements were slow and disoriented like the dawning of day on a slow winter's night. Life to her suddenly began to feel so…light; almost like the lightest weight in the world had been compared to the densest material known to mankind. It just seemed to - she couldn't quite find anything that she could relate to the comparison, but all of a sudden she felt fatigued, and for the life of her she couldn't quite figure out why._

_When she turned so that she was facing opposite the crystal hearth, she saw a patch of darkness shaped like a figure before her. She lowered her gaze and almost instantly caught sight of fifty-two cards made with paper and ink scattered out across the floor beside her. Only, they were precisely packed together numerically, and that was the first aspect to attract Jessie's attention strangely enough. And not only were they in numerological order, but the rows of numbers reaching from twos to the Aces were aligned in suit order with the reds being above the blacks._

_It was strange, the sight was. Not only was she aware of who had done such a thing and who the figure was before her, cocking his head slightly in confusion, but she was also aware of the fact that such a thing shouldn't have been possible - for he had never learnt to recognize numbers digitally. And Jessie knew this for absolute sure as her thoughts began to draw over the exact same aspect for the second time in the matter of a few hours._

_When she eventually met the eyes of the young boy, her vision stirred completely and the world around her span. Torrents darted endlessly through her body, and she felt every single one of her muscles spasm as her sight settled upon a shadowy canvas._

_Trepidation suddenly charged her nerves in anticipation, and she suddenly arched backwards when an adult's silhouette merged together from the fabrics of the unknown in the distance. Perched on the ground, sprawled untidily, the outline of a fine blade protruding from the figure's back dampened the masking shadows. Instinct told her that someone she knew well was dying where they now lay in a pool of sentimental crimson regret, but all other urges nesting within her remained blinded._

_However, a clairvoyant thought melded her senses into something else, and a ghastly voice roaming over the deafening pitches of her mind told her this:_

**_- The quintessence of Day compares nothing to the dominance of Night. -_**

When her thoughts eventually settled, the world around her finally became visible. In slight shock, she darted upright and allowed her eyes to widen. A small recollection of the figure she had glanced on before came streaming back to her mind and she turned her head to her right instantaneously.

"Bullseye -" She gasped, her regained senses beginning to top and turn on her vigorously as her gaze rested on her brother. At the other end of the stone built room, he perked his head up in her direction with faltered brows. Disbelief riddled his expression, and for a moment or two he seemed puzzled. Almost as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

For a few moments, Jessie merely gaped at him with an evident expression of bewilderment etched clearly upon her face. Remaining motionless, her thoughts began to reel endlessly and she felt confused. She knew exactly where she was, but she didn't remember being anywhere near Area Eight, District Four after her mind had pulled together the illusion of her father. She had been far from there actually, and she had no idea how she could have travelled that distance without even being consciously aware of it.

She was about to ponder over the aspect, but she was forced away from her thoughts when she was tackled with a firm embrace. Caught on edge slightly, she kept still for a few moments before eventually coming to her senses. Her arms returning the embrace, she brought him close to her.

"Oh Bullseye…" She murmured slowly, inhaling his aura as she tucked his head under her chin. "I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

Of course, Jessie hadn't expected any answer. But when he pulled away, his mouthing dropping slightly, something within her arched in anticipation. His mouth ever-so-slightly moved, but nothing was heard. No sound passed through his lips, and the young boy looked clearly heartbroken.


	12. The Word of Purity

_**Chapter Eleven**_

A simple stir in Canir's thoughts had drawn him into the self-induced trance he had been trying to avoid for a large majority of the last week, and a clairvoyant voice in his mind told his senses to rest as he stood where he was, watching as his eyes flitted across each and every one of the former convicts he had tended to in the last year filed out of the building for no utter reason whatsoever. Big bodies, purely muscle that had been subjected to many years of strenuous exercise, darkened by the veins of the blood that had been tainted black, overshadowed the scrawny messes of the cowards that had been deemed the fate of the criminal for petty crimes. The children that belonged to the convicts had lost the lubricated zest that had been tagging on with their consciences since birth, and now merely contemplated life with the eyes of the lost. Dulling down the natural vibrancy that had once echoed through the place and thickening the infrequent silence that now roamed freely where danger floundered away, Canir cocked his head to the side. Lost at such a happening taking place right before his eyes. The streets were what perched directly before the fates' of the condemned, and a malnourished tone in his mind told him that the danger really awaited them where they were to be found, helpless in the world where negligence had only just been escaped. But he stood frozen in place though as the train of his thoughts went haywire, darting wherever it desired.

The sounds of Life began to drift away from his conscious mind, increasing the distance between themselves and the source of his comprehension with every second spent wandering in the land all but unbeknownst to him. Illusions his mind brought up of the people fleeting away from such a place now seemed to disfigure, breaking apart as his sight hovered and shifted in place, like a turning lantern with its disoriented lights glowing unenthusiastically without endeavour at that. To his miscomprehension though, the basement of the shelter had been left abandoned for almost a week now - and the Spirit of the Night with the strongest powers of them all had been huddled beside the disillusioned freights of the Dark Shaman's cursed potencies.

When his subconscious eventually gave in to the arduous frequencies, his thoughts unconsciously began calling towards a greater power - one that would pull him from the physical world and into one where the wisest meandered. Through the ways and the twists and turns of the settled spirit, he was brought to such a destination where he had been many times before but could not trespass single-handedly. Desolation crisping the world around him like nectar against the most bitter of fruits, the rest of his senses awoke to the new parchment of a bare, blemished reality.

A familiar sensation began to dawn on him. Knowledge as fresh as when it had been discovered suddenly became foreign to him, and the many years of the aged man's life abruptly turned inane. In the distance he could hear the soft murmurs of the gracious comforting the fearful, and everything he had known and everything in life he had stood for all that time now remained completely and utterly useless when compared to the Bearer of the Life.

He turned, warily, where he stood. The world around him was pitched with the essence of the dark, but he could make out everything around well enough. The sight he met was illuminated by bright lights that sent thick shadows hanging off the two figures directed within the focus of its rays, and he could make them out clearly as his senses drew his thoughts around the bend.

In the lights, the Bearer of the Life was perched cradling a young boy against her chest. At first sight, Davies had been able to tell that the perception of the child had been a mere representation of Saunders boy - a lost part of him, as he had come to realize. One that had been lost for longer than he had previously imagined.

With the boy settled across her lap, she held him against her chest gently and crooned harmonious remedies into his ear. Canir could hear them from where he stood, and suddenly all of his provocative senses relaxed in their places. Tranquillity coursed through the atmosphere as the sound of her voice travelled. Of course, the words she sang were of a different language - one quite foreign to Davies. But, as he had come to faithfully learn over the years he'd spent with her, Thyra was familiar with many of the ancient language as well as the ones of the tribes she had come to learn about during her life as a physical being. And even from the eve the deadliest Spirit of the Night had decapitated her soul shortly after labour, destroying her completely before her spirit had the chance to spread the remedies of many ailments into any more beings, her knowledge had only broadened.

She was aware of the man's presence of course, just as she had been able to hear his callings. But she lowered her head first to make sure that the boy was entranced in slumber first before drawing her attention over to the figure in the distance. With eyes like natural skylight, she observed the differentiated changes in the man she had known once so well with a furrowed gaze.

"You even tainted your blood." She commented quietly, unsure of what to make with the new alterations within this person. Of course, she knew that the changes in appearance and tone were vital during days like these; but even for her, they were somewhat of a drastic modification to who he had been once. "And your thoughts - they no longer have a hold of their purity."

When the calming currents of the sky's embers met the tainted colour of Davies' eyes, Canir felt as though his whole mind had turned around on him. Suddenly, his senses plunged and he began to feel the inept sense of forlorn tug at his nerves. Realization struck him again, and he was abruptly impacted with the knowledge of what he had lost - the sagacious essence of a pure-minded soul he had been without for twenty-one years. He hadn't fully realized how much the pain had influenced him until this point in time, and it went far beyond his foreseen limit, building up in height and pressure continuously until that empty section of his heart began to broaden.

"With the blood of the cursed, you have to change everything about yourself during times like these to keep things in order." He answered merely, feeling almost incapable of even uttering a single sentence without trailing off completely. In her presence, he felt oddly dim-witted - and this was a very foreign feeling to him indeed. "There was nothing else I could have done to keep them away -"

"I understand," Thyra intervened, trying to soften the blow of her interruption with her tone of voice. "You've done all you must and I respect you deeply." Her composure drooping, she let out a long-awaited sigh and dropped her gaze to the boy in her arms. "He's been here longer than he can be aware of, hiding himself from the voices he can hear in the winds." She paused briefly and stroked the soft mane of hair on the boy's head. He was just as lost anyone else was - if not worse - so she didn't comprehend the need to make him suffer in silence. Settling her mind down gently, she continued. "He voices the same words from his heart over and over again, of which he doesn't know any different. His knowledge is everything but vast, Truman; he's not like that in the physical world."

Davies flitted his eyes across the two figures planted at the centre of the crisp plane of light and pondered over the thought only briefly, feeling as though for a second his conscience was pulling him back to the right tracks. Watching the redheaded soul with caution, he observed her appearance sceptically. Nothing had changed in her over the years, as she still owned the same gown and wore the same age she had died within. But he tried to clear his thoughts eventually despite his provoking urges.

"She always used to say that he had been like this for as long as she could recall," He said merely, trying to pluck out the right words from his mind in an act of pure and utter desperation." Unwillingly, he came to that dreadful realization and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "The different parts of him must have been separated from each other for a while now. And when that happens at such a young age, the parts of the soul sprout individually."

Almost as soon as he had muttered such words, he couldn't believe he had said them. A sense of overriding logic began to dawn on him at that very moment, and he suddenly felt as though the burdened logic had always been there for him to ponder over. Now he felt out of place.

"That is all very true." She murmured simply. "I've looked over broken souls for many years, but his is the most peculiar."

"Saunders' child always been that way."

"But he was never meant to have a child. The tone in the blood had been made too obvious."

Truman stood, unspeaking, for a few moments before he thought aloud. "He spoke before. Something within him must've broken through."

"Has he spoken as yet?"

"Not a word, according to what I've been told."

"The Heaver seemed to have more dawning on him than spoke of when we last met."

"You spoke to him?" He asked in disbelief, finding himself quite intrigued by the matters he knew nothing about. The information that had been passed between the Bearer and the Heaver of the Life that day had never been gathered by him, and he knew little to nothing about it. His jaw quivered slightly in deep entranced thought as he recalled the time of his last meeting with Saunders. He had forced a glass void, bombarded with multiple encasings of damp mahogany wood to keep the unwanted despondency he was bound to have in him numb and silenced into his heart that day, and he had kept it locked up tight ever since. A weakness was a sign of danger, and boy were they dangerous when handled indecorously.

Sensing the basis of his thoughts, she cocked her eyes to her side and said: "Look to your left, Truman."

He followed her gentle command by turning his head to the left, and he was abruptly engulfed by the force of the higher power -

"The Txiv Neeb," Saunders began briefly, inhaling deeply as his voice masked the world around him with that all so strange presence. "W-will she be-"

Again, his voice trailed off. This experience was just all so new to him; he could barely believe he was standing where he was in the first place. With his strong scented blood, exactly like hers had once been, and he suddenly found himself at a loss for words for the second time in such the short period he had been here. However, to his fortune, she had been able to read his mind like the back of her hand.

"She has been raised well, Heaver of the Life. But now she must learn her path from here. With the aid of others, the choice will be decided and the changes will be effected."

'But how?' He questioned himself. Just how will the world be affected once the next Master realizes its true strengths? He continued to ask himself this, but, with no surprise, Thyra had managed to read his expression before he even knew that he had been portraying it.

"I may be able to look over the acts of Life, Saunders. But reading the Future is something I cannot do."

He blinked hard to clear his thoughts and suddenly shook his head in a sense of half-hearted disbelief.

"But you're the Bearer."

"But of 'what'?" She asked impatiently, her voice sounding very on edge as her bright cerulean eyes darkened unnaturally. "The Night or the Day?"

"It's not the Night." Saunders protested quickly, his voice as honest as it was wary. "She'd never be one of the Night."

His words brought along a long trail of thick silence that hung between the two of them like a barrier between two completely different worlds, ranging from a heck of a lot more than Life and Death; and this silence made the Heaver of the Life feel uneasy where he sat. It didn't seem natural actually, but he forced the feeling aside before fixating his gaze on the beautiful form of the Dead Spirit.

"But is there any way for us to be sure?" She questioned, more to herself than the individual opposing her. "Because that's the catch. We won't know until the time comes…" Her voice trailed off slightly, and then the inept silence washed through the space in between the two of them yet again. But this one had been more prolonged than the others, and the time only passed by like the blink of an eye. Leading him closer to his own death. Forcing back a sigh of half-hearted exasperation, Thyra asked: "Does she know?"

Caught off guard by the sudden snap in the silence, Saunders shook his head again. His mind felt numb as he racked through his thoughts for the small words that would form the correct answer.

"No…" He began huskily, his tone of voice mutual. "No. I never mentioned a thing."

Her eyes flickered for a moment, as though her reaction to hearing his answer had been slightly indecisive. For the most, he didn't know what is was behind the slight flicker in the complexion of her sky-like eyes, but it was enough to gather that the true meaning behind his answer had been ambiguous. He, for one, didn't know how to react to this. So his facial expression didn't change.

"I am grateful to you for that. The knowledge of such a thing for a child of that age can be dangerous. But there is no mistaking the inevitable here, Heaver of the Life. The Future will eventually unravel itself. And when it does, we can only hope that the true evils of the Earth will fall."

An instinct made him nod, though the entire situation didn't help clear his mind in the way he had hoped.

"Your soul has been cleansed." She suddenly began, striking something foreign within Saunders: Uncertainty. "But your sins haven't been forgotten by the world. And for this, you must face up to the hands of death." She paused briefly, as though awaiting a reaction. She didn't get one of course, and she suddenly became aware of why she wouldn't receive one from him. He wasn't like that at all. Instead, his expression only shrunk He knew what lay - waiting. And he was completely and utterly terrified of it. "I'm sorry, old friend. But your time has come quicker than you might think."

Those were the last words he heard before the world around him disintegrated into reality. For a few moments, his thoughts span uselessly. But the first thing to remind him of his perched fate was the chill of the stirring winds against his bare chest. And from where he stood in the crowd, Truman could sense the Long Run's uneasiness.

For Long Runs, and unlike others facing death due to the hands of the superior force he was about to lose his life to, their dignity was stripped completely when the trigger was pulled. With all dying bare-chested so that the onlookers could be satisfied with the fact that they were receiving justice for the crimes against Society the Long Runs had committed those two and a half decades before. It was the puncture that came with the bullet that really proved that the taking of the life had been completed, and most were here to day to see exactly this: The bullet in the Heaver of the Life's heart.

When Truman's sense of sight began to settle within his burdened memory, he found that the particles of the world stood disoriented through the fabric of his hood. His gaze hung towards the ground, but he could make out the surroundings around him well enough. The courting grounds of Area Five, District Eleven had been rebuilt recently to allow more civilians in to watch the passing of the Dead Ends, but there were no stands. Just four walls of stone enclosing the dirt floor surrounded the crowd that gathered in a huddle to watch this day's main event. This, unsurprisingly, was what he had always hated about this very location.

Lifting his head to direct his stare toward Saunders', Truman allowed instinct to take over him. Mentally connecting with the anxious soul, he hoped that this would do.

- Your heart is as courageous as you are brave -

The Heaver of the Life felt his breath catch in his throat. And suddenly, anxiety didn't seem to make sense to him anymore. The once crested emotion, settled deeply within is heart, just dissolved away… His spirit seemed to lighten within his physical body - relaxing - and his senses felt enlightened. The world seemed to stop. Then it was just him and the veiled man left to stand, communicating in this 'wonderful' way.

Closing his eyes blissfully, Truman encrypted his next words into the back of the Heaver's mind:

-Your soul is clean.-

These words set his enlightened senses ablaze, and suddenly the rest of the world didn't seem to matter anymore. Everything in his life had led to this very moment, just as Truman had been reminding him. Now, he became fatefully aware of this: The sins committed under his name; the cleansing of his soul; the heaving of the life; his own death. It all added up in the end for him - it was what he had been brought into the world for. Past the sins and the impression the rest of the world had of him, his life had been leading to something far bigger than the supposed 'destruction' of the modern world. Life wasn't as simple as some might think. There was no such thing as 'good' or 'bad', and the Heaver of the Life now saw this. Well - to some extent, those concise words set the illustration for something far more complex. But, people can change, just like he had done. Someone wicked could learn from the ways of their pasts, just as the decent-minded could be driven mad when their minds have been tainted.

It all connected together for a reason, and this reason was vital. His death and the suffering - well - it was to happen. And it was to occur for a reason. It wasn't the end. The end to his existence in the physical world - yes - but it was the real kick start in the fate for the rest of the world.

Live life. Love a Loved One. Die in the hands of Death. Influence the fates in a way that not many souls would be able to do. It wasn't all just pure coincidence. Now he saw past the truth.

And for this reason, but not this reason alone, he wasn't afraid anymore.

Meeting the veiled figure's hidden gaze, the Heaver of the Life could quite easily imagine the grassy green emeralds commending him for the life he had led, and Saunders nodded gratefully. Inaudibly thanking the man behind the veil for cleaning his soul all those years before this day. The Cleanser of his soul nodded mutually, and returned the blessings.

Truman smiled past the veiled hood - one sign of gratitude Robert Saunders' never caught sight of.

-I thank you.-

Allowing his newly found confidence to seek any sense his mind withheld, the Heaver of the Life inhaled deeply and directed his gaze towards the executioner who had already locked his aim on Saunders' heart. The Long Runs went without dignity, and received no prayers to take with them back to the afterlife. Not that he had expected them to begin with. Not with these people - no.

Locking his secure gaze onto the image of Death; Saunders inwardly blessed everyone that had done him good in his life. Even those who had turned him in to dock the reward for his capture at their own expenses. It wasn't their fault really when he thought about it. The world nowadays had turned so bad for the one's who had tried to make good. Both he and the veiled figure had come to learn of this over the years - and it was a terrible fact for one to be conscious of.

Saunders' inhaled deeply and waited for death.

The executioner was a man of logic, with sharp eyes the shade of mahogany wood. Of course, he didn't feel sorry for the Long Run - he felt sorry for none of the Dead Ends. But the man behind the pistol had never really sympathised with anyone, not when there were far more important issues to ponder thoughtfully about. When he cocked his pistol for that one, last time, he snarled at the Long Run and huskily took a step backwards. Like a flash of the storm's lights, he unsheathed the Revolver and aimed.

Raymond Pride showed his Marksmanships for the very last time that day. Before the second was over, the sounds of mortality had been sent coursing through the air -

Tearing himself away from the disillusioned memory, Truman turned towards Thyra and rasped: "I've always dreaded coming across that moment again."

"But you think of it a lot? Do you not?"

"Of course I do," He gasped, breathing harshly to regain his breath. All the wind had been knocked out of him by the sound of the gunshot, and he now felt weakened as he tried to regain himself. "He was the girl's father."

"The persistence of the bond is always stronger than the blood, Truman." She said softly, instinctively dropping her gaze back down to the boy huddled within her arms. "But it is the blood that is set to be called upon when the time arrives. The Spirits of the Shamans cease to rest; they'll find and make use of their hosts soon enough. It should have been I, but my life ended sooner than expected." She paused, then lifted her gaze. "You are aware that the hosts can only be used if the blood is scented enough?"

He nodded. Of course he was aware of this - the entire situation revolved around this.

"Yes. A drop of her blood can send the unwanted charging."

"But since Saunders' passed on, it can no longer be masked." She stated simply. Of course, she was aware of the fact that he already knew of this. But there was a very subtle element behind those statements that made her wonder. "She's been standing out in the crowd for quite some time now."

He knew this. He had always known this would happen. With a scent like that, the host was bound to find itself in trouble. And it was this fact that kept him paranoid. After all, one could only hide a felony for so long before a racket was made. However, a strange thought dawned on him. "Then why is it she hasn't been called upon already."

This question tugged on something foreign within Thyra and she had to retain the urge to drop her gaze. She had a brief idea, but it was one all so very weak - she wasn't even sure whether it was reliable or not. "I can never be quite sure. But, Truman, it isn't going to remain that way for long. "

Silence hung, until it was interrupted eventually.

"… Have you any idea of where she can be kept safe?" She asked.

"I know of a place. In the far South. You know of it too." Truman blinked hard, inhaling deeply to clear his thoughts. "The town we met at. The General Escorts always overlook it."

The town they had met had been securely kept away from the eyes of the G.E . All those following religious fates - of any sort whatsoever - that had been looked down upon by the G.E, had followed their urges and had traipsed down to the rumoured town hidden carefully within the Andes Mountains in Chile..

"If she and the boy can be kept safe there, then do all you must." Her expression faltered, and Truman could tell she felt saddened. But he had only a very little amount of time to ponder over it. "But time is running out. So you must hurry."

Before he was even consciously aware of what was happening, he found himself back in the desolate room where only he stood. But he questioned the silence no further, and made his way up to the upper level of the building.

…

Jessie watched her brother with a narrowed gaze. Something about his look edged her, and she suddenly didn't know what to do as the image hit her mind again. Dropping her stare, she saw that the image from her mind was still scattered all along the floor's surface and she arched her eyebrows in confusion.

"Bullseye…" She slowly asked, becoming all too self-conscious of the area around her. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Along the floor, fifty-two cards still remained scattered in pattern, colour and number coordination. Formed from scrap paper and ink, the sides of each and every card were uneven - but the basic shapes were still there. From what she knew though, Bullseye had never learnt how to recognize numerals, and yet the cards looked as though they had been set up by a child.

Of course, the young boy knew nothing odd of it. It had only come as natural to him - almost like starting to breathe. It wasn't learnt exactly, because it just happened. Nonetheless, the look upon Jessie's face made him rather curious and he became rather unsure of himself. Surely he hadn't done anything bad, he told himself. So then what was the matter?

At a loss for anything else to express his answer, he shrugged. But then something dawned on him - something quite peculiar. His thoughts trailed back to when he and Jessie had been in imprisonment and he suddenly began to think of the Sheriff that had been keeping guard of them. Bullseye, of course, had noticed the odd looks his sister had given the Sheriff, and he had noticed them quite frequently, but they had always been shrugged off with no true genuine thought. But now that a strong force was making him think twice, the looks Jessie had sent towards the Sheriff seemed all the more peculiar.

He looked up and, unsurprisingly, Jessie managed to read his expression perfectly. She was left flabbergasted and she simply gazed at her brother for a few moments with nerves full of helium. Without any clue of what to say, she was speechless.

However, both were drawn out of their thoughts when footsteps were heard. They snapped their gazes towards the source of the sound, and saw a figure at the doorway. A mutual sense of understanding passed between them, and it was concluded when the form stepped out from the darkness, abruptly coming into clear sight.

"I see you're now awake." Canir muttered, crossing over to the other end of the room where a desk was perched. On the desk lay a single sheet of stained paper and a candle protruding upon a bed of porcelain. Jessie remained rather speechless as she observed him from a distance. She was still considerably shocked after waking up in these surroundings, and she suddenly began to grow very conscious of an aspect she had never ventured towards before. But she was broken from her thoughts before she could ponder over Canir's past relations with her late father. "Are you feeling all right? No concussion? Aches?"

Jessie shook her head instinctively, muttering: "No…" She was silent for a few moments, but thought aloud soon enough. "What happened? I mean - I was no where near here before."

"You've been out for a while now. For a week nearly."

"A week?" She exclaimed, her words coming out a little louder than had been anticipated. As shock dawned in, she suddenly became all too conscious of the pain coursing through her inoperative hand. It had never healed properly, so the tendons in her arm were fragile. Where she was knelt on the ground, she brought her right arm over to her lap and stared down quite gobsmacked. "But I wasn't anywhere near here - I don't think."

"You must have been closer than you thought. I heard commotion only west of here and followed it to make sure the area was secure, which was where I found you two." He swiftly took hold of the plate and candle and crossed the room so that he was beside the fireplace. Jessie caught Bullseye's uncertain gaze and shifted slightly.

Jessie remained silent for a few moments until her thoughts broke the cycle. "How exactly did you know my father?"

Canir felt his breath catch in his throat. Eventually, he said: "Before the nuclear holocaust broke out - before I was born - his father was my father's psychiatric reviewer. Mine had been Autistic you see, and his obsessions would sometimes drive him crazy. Your grandfather had a brother just like Father, and he had handled him practically since infancy, so he had knowledge in that area."

"My Pa had never spoken about his family, but he'd spoken of you once." Jessie stated, calmly settling Bullseye down by her side. "Neither did my mother come to think of it - but I had never asked to tell the truth."

"Well - in these days," Canir began, picking up a match from beside the fireplace; he struck the match against the ground. Within moments, the head was set alight and he lit the wick. "it's probably best to keep yourself to yourself in fear of being overheard." He paused briefly, pondering for a short moment before he turned towards her and added: "Your father was a brave man, Jessica. Unfortunately, as it happens, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He directed his gaze back towards the hearth again and placed the candle light gently on the ground. Instinctively, he asked: "What happened to your right hand? It doesn't seem to function in the way the other does."

Jessie felt her senses sharpen briefly, but she soon pushed the provocative thoughts aside. She exchanged glances with Bullseye before saying: "I was just hurt during one of the air raids. I'm lucky my whole arm wasn't crushed."

Calmly, Canir inhaled. He had no idea why he mentioned what he had next, but it just rolled from his tongue like natural instinct. "My only wife had believed in Faith Healing. She had believed that the essence of one's spirit was pure enough to help others - but whether that had been true or not, I have no idea."

"You're married?" Jessie asked without thinking, soon regretting her question though when she realized that it probably would have been best to have kept it to herself. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean to ask that."

"No, it's - it's fine…" He murmured, his facial muscles twitching. "I had been married - once. She died during childbirth, and the child followed shortly afterwards -" He stopped himself from continuing eventually, finding that his chest ached as he spoke.

Bullseye caught Jessie's gaze quite uneasily, and it suddenly struck him that he was fortunate to have lived when his mother hadn't. He felt a great immense of sorrow inside. Jessie, feeling his restlessness, wrapped her right arm around him and held him closer. Only, she felt no pain from her forearm to her wrist - but only for a moment.

Shaking his head, Canir continued before Jessie could speak up. "It might be an idea if you go outside, get some fresh air and purchase something that can keep you disguised if any of the patrollers decide to root through here. I expect they'll be searching through this town tonight."

…

"Are you sure it's safe to go out?" Jessica asked as she threw the hood of the large waistcoat over her head, silhouetting the features on her face completely. It hadn't been until now she began to realize just how much weight she had lost since she had been here last, and it shocked her to say the least; it must have been twenty-eight pounds at least. At least when she had been imprisoned, they had gave her more than enough to keep going - which would have been quite a luxury for most who accounted every cent as golden. "I mean - the markets are right in the sight of everyone, and they sure have got to have patrollers on duty checking under everyone's hood an' all."

Canir, who had been hunkered beside the fireplace setting up the materials needed to light up the hearth, perked his head up in her direction. "The people of this town have enough on their minds without having to know who they're with permanently." He stated simply, glancing at her briefly before reaching into his worn coat for a match. "I've been on the mind of the General Escorts for years, but they never notice a thing if you keep your head down."

"So then, I only need to buy the oil?"

"Yes," He said, flitting his gaze all across the room. "It may not seem like much, but you'll blend in with the people around here instantly. Keep your eyes locked on the ground, and you'll be fine." He darted his eyes across the room. "I'll keep an eye on Bullseye."

…

And this was what Jessie had done. She now wandered through the street, heading towards where she knew the markets would stand. It was midday by that point, but it was dark enough to seem like the early hours of dusk. Within the rest of the community, Jessie hoped she could blend right in, but she knew that the best wishes on the tree were the hardest to pick.

However, she had been too busy focusing on the ground to realize she had been heading into someone. And she remained oblivious to this fact until she collided right into him.

In shock, she lifted her gaze instantly, only to shoot it back towards the ground when she met those familiar, mahogany eyes. Almost instantaneously, she was sent right down memory lane.

_Jessie had been quite oblivious of her own actions as Instinct blinded her and she had only become aware of her motions when their eternal spirits were only the fraction of a second away from touching. But she had been far too late to stop herself by then. So by the time he had spotted her slight motions, it was almost far too late to react._

_She had no clue what it had been, and she would remain clueless until later stages. But when something inside her had fluttered gracefully, as though the Sheriff's help was the best anybody would be able to give her, it turned into an overpowering emotion and she suddenly didn't know about the rest of the world. Her incomplete soul was there, and he was the only person she knew of who could fill those holes punctured into her heart. She needed him to feel secure - and he was there. This thought was what urged her on as she caught his lips in hers with a gentle kiss. Instinctively, her eyes fluttered shut as she cupped the side of his face. She suddenly felt warm and smug inside as she brushed her lips against his affectionately, and she felt her senses heighten. The zest of the simple touch blinded Pride, leaving him both motionless and clueless as she trailed her jaw line against his. Allowing his natural senses to take control of him, he held the side of her face and Jessie cherished the feel of his touch against her skin. Blindly, she stroked his shoulder and abandoned her logic, allowing her heart to overpower her thoughts for the first time in a long while._

_Before either of the two had come to realize what was happening, Jessie had moved herself to straddle his lap and Woody himself was beginning to lose himself within the peculiar force guiding their movements. As even he had found himself influencing the passion of the kiss. Running his tongue soundly along her upper lip, tasting the ripe fruit for every drop it was worth, he convinced her to open her mouth slightly to deepen the kiss. With her taste seeping into his harmoniously, like a lemon's zest against sugar, Woody explored the available space melodiously, rejoicing in the soft sounds of her blissful moans. Hoping to hear the musical sounds again, like a sweet melody to the ear, he stroked her back soothingly with his free arm._

_Acceleration boosted his nerves like energy, intoxicating all senses that lay within line of sight with some chemical that set his soul ablaze as these few moments went by, giving him the inner strength to progress on when his insides really felt like disintegrating into the smithereens of what they had once been. Caressing one hand up her back, he fingered the loose, stray locks of her fiery, copper hair. Running it through and through, he felt the silk-like texture of the strands and thought of how real, true and natural hers was. Not like the dyed hair others had that they had stained with oil to blend into the community around. No - hers was natural. Like a Goddess's at that. And the feel of it was absolutely wonderful. Not like straw or sawdust, but like silk and the fine texture of a quill's end. He had never seen anything quite like it._

_Naturally, the use of their respiratory systems became insufficient and they pulled apart for breath, though severely regretted it. But Woody barely took one breath of air in before moving to her slightly exposed right shoulder. Bucking his head down, he kissed her hot skin over and over, pecking her body lightly with affection and lust clearly illustrated in his actions. Her mind was sent spinning at these delicate touches and she ran a hand through his brown hair soundly - it really was like a field of pure bliss; just the right texture and just the right feel to it to make the simple gesture a natural habit - coursing out another moan through the bowels of her lungs as she relaxed in her position._

_Tension rose within her, seeping out gradually along with the soothing flow as the trail of affectionate love bites progressed further up her neck and jaw line. It was almost like the touch of his lips against her skin set her nerves ablaze in fiery anticipation, forcing all of her provoking thoughts to the pits of her mind where they truly belonged, frying them on a skillet._

_Against the wall of the alley, the Sheriff bucketed the weight of her body down onto his hips as though it was one of the only natural things to do. For the first time in his life, he was listening to his blinded senses rather than his standard logic, and he wasn't so sure what to make of it. It was just so… He couldn't even think, and Jessie could sense this. But it fled her mind when instinct guided the arch of his body towards her. Her breath plunged into her throat, coming out as a raspy sound of satisfaction. Syrupy and melodious to the sound, like the scarce breaking of sunlight sinking into the land after the dull period of depriving darkness, in ran through his ear drums._

_She was weakened further by that motion, but she didn't take it for granted He also let out a soft sound in appreciation when Jessie brought herself closer to him, closing the gaps between them as she rubbed her body against his sensually. She loved hearing this sound, so she took pleasure and contentment out of it gratefully._

_The timber wood of her heart was finally set blazing into the night skies when his lips caressed that one spot of her nape that made her senses hang over the edges -_

She staggered back from him, completely in shock, and felt his peculiar stare upon her form as her senses froze over.


	13. The Horse and the Empty Trough

**Chapter**** Twelve**

_**- Life was tough, but the horse carried on. The roots were firm, but Bullseye the horse kept chewing. The air was cold, but the horse still plucked up the courage to shield himself from the rain. -** The voice spoke to her mildly, barely a whisper in the wind as she watched the horse from afar. Her attention was enlightened as her eyes fell upon the dreadful sight, but her gaze was widened in absolute horror. The scrawny form of the horse in the distance made her feel sick inside, though she had no physical form to feel anything with. His ribs protruded against his body, obviously out of malnourishment_

_Somehow, the sight reminded her of her brother. She didn't know why, as the two of them should have nothing in common. But, as her eyes travelled over the eerie figure in the distance, trapped in the field where no protection lay, she couldn't help but let that peculiar sense of Déjà vu dawn on her. It wasn't a foreign feeling by any means - she had felt it before, but not to this extent or context. She felt like she had been standing in this exact position before, watching this scene. For she felt like she had realized that the horse was scrawny, just like her brother, before - as well as other similarities. The horse was sick, just like how she knew Bullseye was inside. And he was alone - just as both Jessie and her brother were. It didn't just seem like an ironic coincidence - it appeared to be a lot more than that, but Jessie's senses now just went haywire._

_The horse seemed sad; this was one of the first things Jessie had noticed. The essence of isolation protruded against everything else, almost as though it was venomous. She didn't know whether she had been lost in her thoughts or in a trance - or in both as often was the case - but something foreign to her began to settle on her senses and she suddenly felt afraid. The horse was so sad, and no one was there to help it through the tough times. This really tugged at her heartstring, and Jessica abruptly found herself feeling ashamed. Ashamed of whom she was and sickened by who she had become._

_It was all too familiar to her - she had definitely felt the same way before. There was just no denying that fact, because it tugged and clung to her spirits in all the right places. Why hadn't she helped the horse? Why had she allowed him to suffer when it had been so obvious that he'd been dying inside? She wondered this as her spirits dampened. Why had she gone off in pursue for the hunter's only living son to retrieve the help she felt she had needed as well as the things she'd never needed when the horse was calling - screaming - out for help? Why was she so sick and cruel when she should have been welcoming and caring? This was the thought that sent her nerves ablaze in despair._

_The evil spirits of the night had already settled in the area by this moment, perching in the horse and resting over her allegorical shoulders._

_**- Bullseye the horse had tried so hard to keep his spirits from falling, but in the end the worst prevailed. The evil of the world overpowered all good and the silence fell over the unspoken words. -**_

_As though on cue, the haunting voice brought along a strangled whimper from the horse; one filled with pain and the melancholy of all the years worth wasted. Twisted lies entangled with the desolation of the days faced alone in the new world. Of course, he had never been physically alone, as his slightly overweight owner always took him out into the woods. But no one kept him company when the worst times were faced. And he was alone. Sad and unable to speak out for himself. That was the worst fate he could have met, and Jessie saw this as obvious though there was nothing she could do to help the horse in his time of need._

_**-And then, to silence the unspoken words, the evil spirits of the world had taken over the land and the people that ran it. Making the horse suffer day after day until the Spirits of the Night crept towards their new target… The only innocent one left of them all. And then, all was lost… -**_

_That was it. How couldn't she have remembered this from the story of Bullseye the Sad Horse? It was one her mother never stopped reading to her, as she had believed it would have taught Jessie of the many evils in the world that were lurking out there, right under their noses. Just ready to pounce on them at the time of weakness. Her mother had taught her to do all she can to renounce these evils into the shadows, to scald at them and offer good all she can. For the bad spirits of the world didn't give a damn about who they hurt, as they only did what they had been designed to do: Burn. Burn all they can and freaking make as many innocent suffer as it could physically allow._

_For as long as Jessie could possible remember, the world had been faulty, The poorest of the rich had been made useless, the poorest of the poor had died out long before only to be replaced by the next generation of scavengers, the richest of the wealthy were respected and those who shouldn't be able to make it through life didn't. As many unfortunate souls had come to learn, this was now how the world worked. The rich were taking for granted, and the poor lost everything before such a thing could happen. The world, as far as Jessie knew, had been spiralling out of control even before her mother's time; the rich lived, hiding their fear in this new world, and the poorest suffered with no fears other than Death itself. As fears can be overridden after a while, and all fears apart from demise itself were forgotten after a while. Just as the horse had also come to learn in the world where he suffered and where the humans flourished in excellence._

_Burn. The Evils of the World were meant to cause fire, and fire was ruthless once it was set off its leash. It was created to do what it was supposed to do, just as the evils were supposed to do. Fire was supposed to cause death and destruction, just as the evils of the world had caused. Just as the humans had destroyed this innocent horse inside. He hadn't done anything wrong, but the humans didn't seem to care. As they had only been created to do what they were supposed to do, and this was to hunt and take advantage of anything they could. Simple as really, though Jessie hoped that it wouldn't be. The knowledge simply set her on edge._

_The book she had read hadn't been a half hearted one, as Jessie had come to unfaithfully learn. The moral it had in mind had been a strong one; one maybe not entirely necessary for children of that age. But it made a greater impact upon her childhood than she could have simply remembered. Just like how she'd forgotten about the inspiration for her brother's nickname. Bullseye had reminded her of the horse without her even realizing. Both were unable to speak and had no chance of calling out for help. Even the eyes of the horse seemed to shine in her brother, reflecting the same melancholy Jessie had come to loathe the look of._

_Though she was aware of the fact that Bullseye was far sicker than she could've imagined, she didn't fully understand the reason behind his withdrawal, as she also didn't with the horse. Why would the horse wander around an empty field aimlessly, moping in misery, when he could escape into the world and simply just run? She couldn't be taken wrong, as she knew that exhaustion would have to be taken into account. But this was something that had always troubled her as a child though she hadn't been sure why. The sad horse she saw now seemed to be everything in her brother. The same eyes broke her heart and the same expression shattered her spirits into a thousand pieces. Even when they had once been happy, Bullseye had been withdrawn from the world slightly. Lost in the torturous charades his mind would create to lessen the pain and to force the smile upon his face when called for, where his senses would wander and his soul would flourish in some force unknown to him. Even at four years old he had been unable to mutter a simple word, and this was when Jessie saw something serious etched deep within him, worrying her slightly. Any normal child should at least be able to make basic communication with the rest of the world at that age, right? At two years of age, as he had been when the whole world around him seemed to crack indefinitely, he had showed basic understanding of the English language, but had made no attempt to babble a simple word, surprisingly. And when he tried to communicate with facial expression alone, he ended up showing the same words the previous speaker had just spoken._

_Even in this trance Jessie was fully aware of her past, and even now she could clearly remember the few times they had been in her cell at Area Five, District Eleven. One of the specific times she could remember better than the others, and she could recall asking Bullseye how he was for one reason or another one day only to have him ask her the same question with his eyes. At that moment, as Jessie could remember now, she had gasped and pulled the child close to her chest fearing that the world would take him away from her eventually._

_It was all apart of the learning process; she had tried to tell herself. He had been far too traumatized to speak so, for this reason, he was trying to communicate with expression rather than words. Whether this theory had been correct or not, Jessie didn't really want to find out. As she knew that finding the answer out could pinpoint just exactly how sick he was._

_Maybe the horse had been torn away from the life forms he had once grown to love? Jessie eventually asked as she gazed at the horse from afar. Maybe he was really sad over the fact that he wouldn't ever see the one's he loved again rather than the torture he was being forced through? She eventually considered this, but this was only until the words of the children's book shot through her mind again when the Spirits of the Night spoke to the horse; poisoning his mind._

_**-And he was stolen.-**_

_…_

_"In the silence, Bullseye the Sad Horse hung his head in dismay. The winds, just as silent as the air's waves, called his name - but he never heard them. Time fell and he was left alone - to forever hunker in the desolation of the cruel world inapprehensive of his desperate pleas -"_

_"What's inapprehensive?" A young girl suddenly questioned, cutting into her mother's tender train of story-telling. Tucked securely under her sheets, Jessie pulled the sheets up to her chin, eyeing her mother with those curious orbs. She seemed to be questioning the relation of the term rather than the word itself, but there was something rather ambiguous about her gaze that made her dark-eyed mother wonder._

_Amelia Saunders, a small, timid woman in her mid-thirties with gentle locks the colour of deep mahogany, drew in a breath. In her hands, she held the thin frame of the book given to her by her late mother. It was the one she read out of frequently, at the request of the young redhead at most times, but Jessie still seemed to come up with more, rather peculiar questions during each session. It really was quite odd, how deeply she thought into such a story - one directed towards the youngest of children at that. Nevertheless, she answered her without giving the matter much of a second thought this time around, trying to make seemed almost natural in the meanwhile._

_"Inapprehensive is to be unable to recognise," She paused briefly when she saw Jessie's eyes falter, almost in bewilderment. Adapting the term to the storyline, she said: "In this case, they are ignoring his pleas. He's trying to call out for help, like a young boy would do if he's lost himself in the woods, but they don't hear him -"_

_"I thought he was being ignored." Jessica interrupted, getting rather ahead of herself with her constant state of mind._

_Amelia glanced at her briefly, suddenly feeling half-hearted as she gathered her thoughts. It suddenly dawned on her that the principles of the story she held in her hand were indeed quite complex. She had never really gave it much of a second thought before, since it was only a child's book about a lonely horse handed down to her by her mother. But now that she was trying to think clearly, she suddenly came to realize that the story was no where near as concise as that. The nameless author of the plot had been deemed insane by the public, and only few copies of his work remained in existence, since many religious followers had been convinced that the work of the Devil came out of the brittle minded and had destroyed most sources of the curse before it could spread too far. Well - this went as according to her husband, so there were no doubts about it._

_"Well - that too. In a way."_

_Jessie cocked her eyebrows, "I don't understand."_

_"No - I guess you wouldn't really." Needless to say, her daughter was still confused. "Sometimes, Jessica, there is more to a situation than meets the eye -"_

_"Like when we find a rat behind the chicken stalls?"_

_Amelia couldn't resist smiling. "I suppose you could say that. Well - it's a very close judgement anyway." She closed the book in her hands and placed it gently on her lap. "I take it someone could say it was all unfathomable."_

_"Unfath-" The young girl tried to annunciate, only to stumble over the world._

_"Hard to understand. You see, Jessica, often people act in ways that cannot be justified for others. It's more that likely that the horse was heard in the book, but sometimes people try to block out what they don't understand because it upsets them - frightens them even."_

_"Why would they be upset?" At only seven years of age, the troubles of life were oddly vague to her, but whatever information she did come across didn't always make sense. And this only ever left her feeling quite flabbergasted._

_"Well - because, naturally, people like to know what is going on around them and when they don't, they feel vulnerable - weak. It's like..." She trailed off from there. "Do you remember what your father told you about wars and conflicts?"_

_"Yes, he said that people are forced to fight each other because they don't understand." Jessie caught herself swiftly before venturing off into the bordered territory. "But what don't they understand?"_

_"That's exactly the point, my dear. They have no clue what they're really fighting for, and that's why they feel so vulnerable and upset. Just like those in the story. They don't know what is really happening so they try to trap the sounds so that it doesn't upset them further._

_"So they left him alone? Like that?"_

_"I'm afraid they had."_

_"But, didn't anybody help him at all?" She asked, speculating a strange matter. "Aren't people supposed to be nice?" Jessie felt bewildered. Though the morals of the book had been painfully clear - too evident through the hazy mask of pessimism - she still couldn't make sense of them. From infancy, she had been taught that all people were equal, and that animals should be nurtured for. Anything with appropriate sense and feelings should be treated like and human and with dignity, which meant feeding them daily and ensuring that they are kept comfortable in the surroundings around them. Jessie simply couldn't imagine herself hurting the chickens her parents kept intentionally or letting them suffer for that matter. It was inhuman._

_Personally, she had been mortified over the fact that animals were killed for food when her mother explained the basis of the food chain to her and had been reluctant to consume any type of meat for a while, clearly unsettled. Had it not been for the lack of any other consumable products to keep going, then this phase mightn't have passed. She was an animal lover and this had been provokingly clear since the time she could even walk, and the fact that people out there would treat a living being of Nature in such a way left her quite horrified._

_"Jessica, a lot of people out there can't - " She paused briefly, trying to word what she was about to say sufficiently. "Some people find it hard to manage in life."_  
><em>"Do they not have enough money?" This concept was oddly strange to Jessie, as she had never thought too deeply into it before. As became evident to her during the conversation.<em>

_"Well - mostly. What I mean to say, Jessica, is that some people aren't as privileged as we are and aren't so happy. When people aren't happy, they tend not to notice what is happening around them. So, more than likely, honey, they didn't let the horse suffer intentionally."_

_"Are you and Daddy sad?"_

_For a few moments, Amelia remained silent. Until she brought herself back to her senses and answered. "No, we're not sad. We're not sad at all. In fact, we're very happy."_

_"Are you scared?"_

_Again, it was hard for her to bring herself to answer._

_"Everyone's ought to be afraid of something, Sweety." She said. "It's only human that we do and it's perfectly normal. Only those who have difficulties in admitting that they have fears should worry, because by that they are refusing to acknowledge the existence of a vital human emotion."_

()()()()

"Hey," She heard a voice muster, almost in alarm.

She felt nostalgic. A perfect term to relate to how she felt as the initial shock began to settle into her core, deafening her senses completely. It was patronising, the way nerves froze in place. She tried to fleet her gaze away instantaneously, but instinct made her apprehensive. It was clear to her that she knew who she had just collided into; oh she knew it so well - the brain's dreaded gift. She'd be a damn right utter fool not to.

In unsettling dismay, she dropped her gaze towards the ground and attempted to draw the distance between herself and the Sheriff, to no avail. Losing her footing as she staggered backwards, the breath was knocked out of her as she suddenly felt her hands trembling harshly at the dirt. Gasping in surprise, she could only hope that the dim light was another to conceal her visible features, or that the last sixteen months had changed her in such a way that would redeem her unrecognizable to him.

Attempting to shield what was identifiable of her; she pulled the hood directly over her head and tried to roll herself onto her sides, only to lose her gripping completely. An abrupt charge of bewilderment washed over her and she barely had the time to process her own actions adequately as she heard his voice again.

And she was reminded of the Sheriff's kind nature -

_"Hey," The Sheriff began promptly, but cautiously. Without another word spoken for the moment, he stood up and made his way towards the cell. "Is he all right?"_

_Kneeling down in front of the bars, he unconsciously examined the young boy for any sign of discomfort._

_"Yeah," She answered simply, daring not to speak any more than she had. "He'll be fine."_

_Her heart clenched in her chest when she said this. She knew fully well that her brother was most definitely 'not' fine, but in no way would she speak anymore than this. Especially when it was apparent that he withheld the blood of a G.E._

_His eyebrows furrowing, the Sheriff could do no more than discard the situation and frown inwardly. However though, given that Jessie had been very close to the bars of the cell, something within her took control instantly; wiping all common sense away._

_"Wait!" She ushered, reaching her hands through the bars to grab the Sheriff's arm._

_The magnetic pulse almost instantly darted through her arms, and her nerves were suddenly set ablaze as she felt all of her problems simply, vanish. Her thoughts wouldn't make any sense, so she came to realize, but the mere touch set them on spur._

_Allowing her natural instinct to take control, she closed her eyes and reached out to a higher power to obliterate anything bad the Sheriff might've had trapped in his soul and then her thoughts just, drifted into the distance. The World around her began to feel inadequate and, for the first time she could recall in a long while, she suddenly felt at ease._

_To her unconsciousness, the Sheriff had also found himself closing his eyes as the flourishing sensation riddled his senses. Allowing the supernatural power to take over everything in sight, he inhaled deeply and blanked his mind. Not something he had often been able to do. Especially not when he always had to make use of that third eye to make sure that he, himself, was kept safe. Since some were desperate enough to contemplate anything these days._

_During this time, something heavy was heaved up in his soul, and he suddenly began to feel as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Making him feel content as the soft tingle of her touch emitted floundered through his body._

_He felt chaste and eased. The way he had always meant to be._

"Whoa, there." He exclaimed, quite shocked. She froze in her place and bit her lip to keep herself from speaking. A pulse in her heart sped menacingly, but she couldn't tell whether it was in glee or in absolute apprehension. Her heart bellowed excruciatingly, but she was completely unaware of its morals as it swelled, almost as though a hole within her was being filled with something all so strange to her - or punctured, she really had no clue. "I do apologize."

Her whole body became immobile, and she didn't know what to do. Her logic told her that she needed to react - and quickly - but her conscience could take nothing into absolute consideration. It was as clear as the lost daylight that he was there, that some atypical force beyond Fate had led her to the one person her heart had been secretly desperate to find. The one soul she had felt affectionately connected to had been the one person she had wanted to come across ever since she left; someone she had regretted leaving, as she had been secure under his supervision. Even if discomforted and in bad conditions, the Sheriff had been the only person she was safe around. It was a clearly evident fact that he would have found some way around her problems sooner or later, and Bullseye would have been fine in the end - as good as can be in the state of this society at least. And yet, through all the commotion and mishap she had found herself in prior to her departure, she had been completely oblivious to it all. There was no mistaking it, that she had been the one in the wrong for that entire period of time and she had become fatefully aware of this long before - though she had been too late. As harsh feelings and distance had come between the two of them by that point and he, as well as many other patrollers and Sheriff's, was probably under strict orders, effective immediately after detection of first sight: Shoot and disable target instantaneously. If that finished her off, then it spared the use of the execution date. If she, unfortunately, survived the excruciating agony, then money would be brought in watching the Dead End die. A win/win situation - for the G.E.

Jessie's senses went haywire. The least he could do now was to insert the bullet into her back, paralysing her completely. And that was one of the only things he could do if he found out her true identity at this point in town, since she was pretty much as good as dead now. Not only was she the daughter of a Long Run, which she hoped the Sheriff was still quite unaware of - not for the sake of her, but also for the sake of himself, should he ever gain the knowledge that could split him apart if he came to recall their act of intimacy anytime soon - but she was also guilty of treason - the worst offence known in the modern world. Cross the General Escorts, and that was it. Done for in other words. Death Wishes were what became evident when someone tampered with the G.E, and these wishes were usually granted. They were also brought quite quickly, no hesitation required whatsoever. This was why she felt so apprehensive of them, Jessie felt. They were cold blooded, like a venomous snake desperate to cause disruption, and their rules her harsh - as every citizen, unfortunate enough to be under their rule, had come to learn. But that wasn't what usually left the people afraid. What was worse was that they simply didn't care. Some other leaders might do - but they didn't. That was what left Jessie burdened with the knowledge that they would be more than willing to set up an execution date, and watch her die. Therefore, she felt disturbed.

She knew their instructions were strict, and that they'd follow them through no matter how many people they lost. So this was why she became immediately anxious hoping, oh just all so briefly, that he wouldn't notice who she really was as her heart sped like a thunderbolt. It was all she could do really, if she tried to think about it. Act too drastically, and he'll spot something off instantly. A part of her felt like all hopes had shattered, reminding her of the last time she had verbally communicated with him - much to her dismay.

_"Jessica." He ushered in desperation, trying to amount to all the higher matters of this situation to quieten her down to an extent. Indecipherable words like the one's she had just spoken were often what had led to the deaths of hundreds. And this wasn't a path he wanted to take - not in the slightest. A mouth as careless as hers was dangerous for the both of them, and ultimately fatal. "-We're not supposed to be talking about them like this-"_

_Ignoring him instantly (like what he said didn't even cross her mind - much to the Sheriff's dismay),, Jessie's expression faltered, flitching endlessly. She now seemed more angry than shocked, and Woodrow wasn't sure how to take this down. He could only hope - even briefly._

_"Then what are they going to do?" She asked helplessly, scoffing. Her words were like hot ice, attacking him in all the right places and impaling into the Sheriff's senses before scalding everything in sight. "Shoot me without asking a question or even making sure I'm guilty of something first?"_

_His eyes growing wider in shock, the Sheriff tried to step forward and reach out, only to surprise himself when the girl stepped away. Nothing he could say would be able to soothe the smoke clouding her nerves, just moments away from smothering her completely. It might have been the strenuous shock of the situation playing on his senses - or…something else… - because his heart suddenly shattered into pieces when he saw the look etched across her face. Partial loath and full on exasperation, as well as something else he had difficulty making out, rolled into one. Painful, but yet freezing the fires of his broken heart into place._

_"Jessica! You can't be talking about them like that!"_

_"What's the point of even trying to please them Woody?" She questioned the superior in the situation expectantly, her voice becoming blank. For she honestly couldn't see the point. It was lost behind all the worthless charades that had been taunting her mind endlessly for days on end, buried deep within the depths of the torture she dared not to enter. "That seems to be the only thing they care about."_

_Exasperation shouldn't have played its effect upon the Sheriff at this moment in time, as it did not help him any further. But then the almighty powers screaming within him dropped when he saw the look of helplessness protruding along her facial features. It really was no surprise to him that her emotions were flickering continuously, as she had been acting in this way for days._

_"Jess…" He murmured hopelessly, seemingly searching thoroughly for the words of comfort that would never be uttered aloud. For comfort and easy-spirits were both unheard of in this situation. Both as impossible as each other to find. "You know why."_

_When her spirits shattered completely, the Sheriff was not left oblivious to it -_

_"Then why don't you let them do it?" She asked sternly, her question tugging on Woodrow's final heart string. Maybe she didn't fully realize just how concern he was for her? Or how he had almost fallen for her over the course of the last few years when coming across the unnatural vibrancy of her soul? Or just how his insides had soared to the concealed heavens when she had pushed herself forward to the locking of the lips only ten days before this night? The man with the broken heart could only ponder. "And then see if I care!"_

_"Jess -" He muttered uselessly, his voice only cutting itself off when his entire system crashed down on him. The world suddenly seemed blurred and foggy, barely making enough sense to the curious eye; just how Jessica had began seeing the world after the day her whole life caved in. The day her hopes had fled and her dreams had fallen. Pure melancholy as its best in other words… "You don't want to get yourself down that line again…"_

_Her face fell instantaneously, and this was when her broken spirits suddenly became apparent. He could feel the awkward vibrancy emitting through the air, and this tugged at him further._

_The world was distant to her, and Jessica didn't understand it. Why was one thing bad when something else was good? It was these simple differences that left her to ponder in the unearthly silence. Because they just didn't make sense. That much was sure._

_Speaking aimlessly, she asked: "Why do you even care?"_

_Shaking his head glumly, the Sheriff stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. Shouldn't she know this by now? He asked himself plainly. Shouldn't she understand why he cared - why he was trying so fiercely to keep her from getting herself caught in trouble? Was she so oblivious as to how he felt? He kept asking himself - but the vivid conclusion only seemed to stray so far from reach.  
><em>

_"Jess, I think you know." He told her solemnly, seeming to bewilder her with the tenderness of his voice. It was almost affectionate - almost passionate. It dawned on her for a moment, and she suddenly found herself feeling useless. However, she soon came around to her senses.  
><em>

_Forcing the man away from her, she looked heartbroken. Honestly, she couldn't believe any of this - it was all too unreal._

_"It's not fair!" She exclaimed frightfully. Her voice was broken, reflecting the same optimism as her shattered spirit. Her eyes were colder than freshly drawn ice. "How can you let them do this to us?"_

"Sorry there," He said, arching an eyebrow and taking a step forward. "I didn't see you there." He seemed to act almost kind to her, unlike others. With eyes fixed on keeping themselves alive and in the best condition possible, she could sympathise with them directly and could adapt her perspective to enable her to see why they wouldn't. But the Sheriff had always appeared to be the type of person who would go out of his own way to help others, and he always had been helpful to her - until it came to the point where it'd be dangerous to intervene any further of course. A dangerous point. One so lethal that it would set him in permanent danger if he didn't comply with his logic. Which was exactly why he had filtered his heart in order to hear his mind more clearly.

Jessie now recognized the fact that the Sheriff's heart had been out for her and her brother, all the time in fact - but the G.E were always gnawing the back of his mind, sending out the constant reminder of where his heart should truly belong. In riches, but with the General Escorts. That should be the same for all citizens of North America, according to Woodrow's late father. Jessie also recognized this narrow fact.

Her nerves were enlightened when her breath caught in her throat. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, her eyes widened completely. She was still sprawled upon the ground and now felt completely out of place, especially when his touch sent her mind reeling in the past. Until she shook her head

Apprehensive, she brought herself together and awkwardly rose to her feet. She tried to brush him off of her, but ended up actually turning towards him instead. She cocked her head down back to the ground instantly, feeling rather pressured. He could feel his eyes settle cautiously upon her, and she could only hope to the heavens that all he saw was the veiled figure that concealed her from sight.

Instinctively, she coughed, deepening her voice as she mustered: "Thanks, sir."

She was still for a moment, wondering whether the static inside her concluded how she really felt at that moment in time. All she had lost - what she had given up - had once meant the world to her. And she knew it. The chances of finding someone like him in the world - someone who understood that the ways of society were unfair and irrational - depended on finding the chip in the glass. Impossible to find, almost. And yet, she had found him - she felt complete around him. But whether or not she'd be able to get to him without crossing the eyes of the G.E stood perplexed for Jessica. And in a society like this, risk taking was dangerous. She knew this.

With that said, she turned to the side briskly, making her way around him before her heart tore itself all over again.

To her unfaithful knowledge, he gazed in her direction as she headed towards the marker, defying her spirits as she dared not to look back. Of course, she had been unaware from the start of the town's patrollers looking cautiously towards her, contemplating whether the new target was a threat.

…

Charging back into the building she had awoken in only a few hours before, Jessie slammed the door behind her and rushed through an echoing hallway. Her path wasn't lit, but she could see through the dark well enough to navigate herself - a superfluous talent she had developed over the last year due to the surroundings around her. Clutching the jar of oil within her hands, she dropped herself to the floor where she now stood.

The jar was archaic, and the oils inside looked at least half toxic. Nevertheless, she pushed the inappropriate thoughts aside in order to concentrate. She uncapped the container apprehensively, her heart racing wildly as she tried to contain what was now overwhelming her nerves.

Barely able to make sense of what had just happened to her, she rested the glass container on the ground and clasped her face in her hands. To say she was frustrated was an understatement. She felt purely overwrought. It was a miracle how close she had been to him - how close she had been to the one person she had wanted nothing more but to embrace again. But now she's lost all hope of that happening, and she knew it. She knew she'd die of a bullet before she was gifted in such a way. The truth to her was a weight to bear, and she had no idea how she'd be able to manage with it.

She hung her head, biting her lip softly to keep herself from letting the dismay leak. Remaining like this for a few moments, she soon tore herself away from her entranced thoughts and forced herself to focus. She dropped her gaze, sliding her fingertips into the dark mauve shading liquid, which by far was thicker than blood.

Uncertainty floundered through her, leaving her morals vague and disoriented. She, of course, knew that the stain in texture wouldn't be permanent, but she still questioned herself. Though it was the world she wanted to hide from, she felt hesitant about covering herself up from the ones she truly cared about. It just felt unnatural. Nothing remotely vainglorious would result from this, and she knew this to heart. Fate had brought her here, intentionally pushing her right in the path of the one she had fallen in love with, and she felt like she'd be messing with it by trying to avoid what it had planned. Though she knew little to nothing about their scheming ways, she guessed that they weren't something to be messed with. And now she felt precautious.

She mentally scalded at herself, deciding to ignore her provoking conscience as she felt the dark liquid stain her skin. She lowered her head and brought the sticky liquid to her scalp, waving her hands quickly through her hair before repeating the procedure several times.

All the while, it was silent. Nothing else could be heard from the surroundings around her. Not even the faint hisses of the fire in the next room could be heard any longer. But she didn't notice this. Not, of course, until she inhaled deeply, stood up and cautiously made her way over to the room she had woken up in only a few hours before.  
>Immediately, she gasped. She noticed Bullseye standing at the centre of the room, looking unfathomably at the man below him lying in a pool of his own blood. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw the knife protruding from Canir's back.<p>

"Oh, God, Bullseye!" She exclaimed, frightfully. She tore her gaze to him in terror. "What happened?"

He didn't answer, just looked at her with those dull, lifeless eyes; one's that been drained of anything light-hearted still obtainable in this world. Jessie pressed her hands against her mouth in nausea, feeling terribly sick inside as her internal organs twisted and writhed against themselves. Little did she realize her eyes began to sting, that she had been beaten here -


	14. The Reaper and the Shaman

**_Chapter Thirteen._**

Stepping back into the station, the Sheriff felt quite bewildered. The layout of the room around him revealed all sources of life that had been settled in this room when he had left, but yet he felt like something - someone - had been creeping around, obviously up to no good, behind his back. It was dark in the room, but it hadn't seemed so when he had left. Something positive had lightened the room beforehand. But now the essence of that presence was simply no where to be found.

Out of sight and out of reach.

The Sheriff shook his head and crossed the room. He reached his desk with little effort and pulled out a match from his pocket. He struck it effortlessly against the sole of his boot and watched as the head of the match sprung alight in a single flame. Lighting the candle he left on his desk, the new source of light revealed the reports that had been stacked on his desk for him to fill in. It was strange, he thought, because he reckoned that anyone in their rights minds in this District would have enough sense to keep out of trouble as punishments were 'very' severe.

Pondering briefly, he inhaled deeply to ease his thoughts. Now wasn't the time to dwell on all the World's issues, he told himself. Only, these reports reminded him of the person he had lost. The Girl who had lost her every chance. And that, by far, was difficult to force out of his mind.

For, as he had come to realize, he had actually loved her before he had lost her -

…

Jessie's eyes widened. The sight before her was enough to tell the tale of a thousand pictures, and each and every one of those pictures were just as powerful as the next.

Her mind began to delve in the past, to the one moment her mind had overlooked completely - until now…

_The embers of a freshly worn hearth filled Jessica's senses and something within her cringed at the scent. Opening her eyes, she was met gingerly by the dim glow of the passionate flames licking ravenously at the walls of the gypsum fireplace hunkering a few yards away from her at the bedding of the room and she instantly thought of how peculiar it was to wake up to such a sight. The gentle flames of the blazing heat stirred up her thoughts, and she found her mind drifting off towards something completely off topic, like just how the hearth before her seemed to replicate tenderness when all she could remember of the times before were falling into the hands of the almighty dangers lingering through the world. As though something out there - something decent at that which wanted the best for the rest of the world - was guiding each movement and stammer of the heat's delicate descendants, with passion looming through each and every stray of the blazing masker of the dark at that. Like nectar of the light; sweet and powerful, just the right motions in the flickering flames to draw Jessie's thought elsewhere for the time being…_

_She turned onto her side, but her movements were slow and disoriented like the dawning of day on a slow winter's night. Life to her suddenly began to feel so…light; almost like the lightest weight in the world had been compared to the densest material known to mankind. It just seemed to - she couldn't quite find anything that she could relate to the comparison, but all of a sudden she felt fatigued, and for the life of her she couldn't quite figure out why._

_When she turned so that she was facing opposite the crystal hearth, she saw a patch of darkness shaped like a figure before her. She lowered her gaze and almost instantly caught sight of fifty-two cards made with paper and ink scattered out across the floor beside her. Only, they were precisely packed together numerically, and that was the first aspect to attract Jessie's attention strangely enough. And not only were they in numerological order, but the rows of numbers reaching from twos to the Aces were aligned in suit order with the reds being above the blacks._

_It was strange, the sight was. Not only was she aware of who had done such a thing and who the figure was before her, cocking his head slightly in confusion, but she was also aware of the fact that such a thing shouldn't have been possible - for he had never learnt to recognize numbers digitally. And Jessie knew this for absolute sure as her thoughts began to draw over the exact same aspect for the second time in the matter of a few hours._

_When she eventually met the eyes of the young boy, her vision stirred completely and the world around her span. Torrents darted endlessly through her body, and she felt every single one of her muscles spasm as her sight settled upon a shadowy canvas._

_Trepidation suddenly charged her nerves in anticipation, and she suddenly arched backwards when an adult's silhouette merged together from the fabrics of the unknown in the distance. Perched on the ground, sprawled untidily, the outline of a fine blade protruding from the figure's back dampened the masking shadows. Instinct told her that someone she knew well was dying where they now lay in a pool of sentimental crimson regret, but all other urges nesting within her remained blinded._

_However, a clairvoyant thought melded her senses into something else, and a ghastly voice roaming over the deafening pitches of her mind told her this:_

- The quintessence of Day compares nothing to the dominance of Night.

She took another step back, pressing herself firmly against the stone wall as her breath hardened in her throat. Her eyes were wide and they were glistening with the terrible sight that held itself before her. Cascading urges told her that this had been foreseen, but she refused to comply. They were impossible - so she chose to ignore them instead…

"Bullseye-" She rasped, lacking breath. "What happened?" She asked again, in disbelief.

He looked at her. His expression was moulded into one of half-pity and ignorance. The way he looked at her set her senses on edge, like a strange mystical force luring her deeper into the depths of the unknown during a time of desperate weakness. It struck her as foreign - yet vehemently clear. A rusted emerald in the blazing rays of the day's light; unnatural and almost impossible, obviously, but still vividly obtrusive. The look, she had not come across before. The apprehension now crawling through her very nerves, she had never encountered in this form. And always was one to be afraid of the unknown even if, theoretically, she herself was unaware.

Nothing was revealed through the way he merely gazed at her, partially disoriented. His expression was almost unreadable, and it had never been like this for Jessie. No - she always had been able to read his facial features, even at the oddest of times. But now, she just couldn't. It scared her.  
>"Bullseye," She again began, her voice barely a whisper. "What in the world happened?"<p>

She looked from him to the body of the trusted man that lay below, looking as cold as ice. For a few moments, she simply stood where she was, too petrified to do anything else. It was almost far too much to take in, and Jessie had no idea how she should handle the situation as the ferocious apprehensive lodged inside her crawled towards her throat. She tried to ask again, but soon found that she had no voice - suddenly finding out in brief just how torturous life must be for him given his lack of verbal communication.

Searching him for some kind of answer, she again found nothing.

-Concentrate!-

Snapping back to her senses, Jessie felt her heart scorch where it raced rapidly. She moved forward and was ultimately surprised when she found that her legs still worked. As she did so, she unconsciously spotted Bullseye move his head to gaze at something - someone - behind her and instantly became precautious. Nonetheless, just as she began to sense something out of the ordinary, she smelt the scent of an acidic type substance being pressed against her jaw and instantly came to realization.

Within moments, the scent overwhelmed her senses and she fell - completely unconscious.

...

"Do you reckon its bad luck that we can't find that horse's end Davies' no matter how hard we scrub ourselves lookin'?" Pete asked, aimlessly drawing the Sheriff from his thoughts as he rummaged his eyes over a few town reports which never differed from the ordinary. The Sheriff thought it was rather pointless, and excruciatingly painful, but he forced himself to focus on the task nonetheless. That was, of course, until distractions came charging around corners. In that case, he was more than happy to give into temptation.

Woody raised his head. "What d'you mean?"

"Well, the yellow-bellied fella couldn't have left this district without alerting the authorities." Pete said blatantly, as if it were only natural instinct. Woodrow knew far better than that, but allowed the elderly man to continue. "The patrollers are clinging to the borders like two horses lost in a barn, y'see. He wouldn't get out."

"Didn't you say you called the patrollers to come 'into' the town?"

"Well, yes, I did that. But there are plenty of 'em, just lurking about." Pete paused a second, briefly pondering over a very brief matter before he added: "There are hundreds of 'em, Sheriff. Surely you ought to know that."

Oh yes, the Sheriff knew all right. But he still asked himself the question. That one question he had asked himself a thousand times in the past year.

'Then how come she's managed to keep free from them for so long?'

"I did." Woody said simply. His voice was grim. "Anyone would know that, Pete. There hanging all over the place around these parts."

Pete seemed only half-convinced by his answer.

_She was there again, cradling the small child against her chest. Jessie could see her well, and she recognized her. The woman who looked like her, but not quite. The eyes were different, she came to notice. Her eyes were crystal clear and blue, just like the skies she missed. The vibrancy of the aura coursed through the lingering atmosphere. Jessie recognized her instantly._

_"Hush, child…" A delicate voice, silky as fresh cotton, soothed gently. Her voice like nectar in the winds as she appeared abruptly by the boy's side, already stroking his hairline gently with the backs of her fingertips. The voice was one she couldn't recall seeing before which was oddly peculiar, as the woman looked almost exactly like her._

_Of course, from where she stood, Jessica couldn't catch sight of the mystical forms face, but the very textures behind her hairs colour matched the one of the woman's without a question. With the same coppery streaks and the same scarlet texture, it was no surprise that Jessie had been left slightly bewildered. Arching her eyebrows up to the heavens, Jessie wondered whether she was seeing a possible future version of herself in this state of mind, as the older of the two matched her descriptions clearly apart from age and voice as far as Jessica knew._

_Upon instinct, Jessie looked down to study the texture of her own hair and saw the exact complexity behind the copper strands. It was ironic actually, because it was almost exactly alike. Standing out like a sore thumb in a crowd. Somehow though, something within her felt no need to question the resemblance, as focusing on the boy instead of the woman seemed to be the only thing that mattered at this moment in time. So he pushed the inadequate sounds her mind created aside for the time being._

_Kneeling down beside the boy, the redheaded woman tenderly stroked the boy's cheek. From what Jessie could see, it wasn't so sure whether Bullseye could tell that she was actually there or not, because his only reaction to her feathery touch was a slight cocking aside of the head, feeling the breeze of the winds brush his skin gently. But she didn't ponder over this for long before she heard the words sooth the vast torrents of fresh commotion coursing endlessly through the atmosphere, echoing like the solemn rings of a church bell sounding in the middle of the night._

_"Shh…" Her gentle voice coursed, stroking the boy's hair soothingly. Her silky gown, decorated at the ends with fascinating decors, seemed to match her inner character. Like the sweet drops of nectar on a heavenly day, her personal aura seemed to be one of magnificence. Derived from pure beauty and innocence. Almost as though she had lost her life unfairly when her soul was purified from the sweet melodies of the harmonious mocking bird; like she belonged here, but didn't deserve to linger through the desolate depths of such a place. "It's only your fear making this real."_

_It was then that Jessica realized that the elegant figure looming beside her brother must have been a figure of her imagination, because Bullseye seemed to take no notice of her at all. In her perspective, it was almost like the whimpering boy had been a representation of something bigger and that the woman had been a chunk of Jessie's imagination morphed into a physical form. Then again though, the boy had seemed to have relaxed when the mystical woman had formed from the particles of the atmosphere. However, to also be bluntly obvious, Jessie could have imagined this as well, she came to realize._

_"You're waiting for someone to piece the broken parts of the soul together, aren't you?" She asked, only to receive no answer of course. But, in truth, she didn't need one; she knew the truth behind the answer well enough as she could read the expression upon his face just as she had been able to translate the ancient texts of long forgotten tribes. With eyes like tender timber and words reflecting the wise nature of a tree's ember towards life. As Jessie watched from afar, she wanted to approach. But something kept her frozen in place, telling her not to intervene. "It'll take the time, child. For living someone else's fears and values is arduous and can take time."_

_She paused momentarily, understanding that the child wasn't listening but wishing to continue onwards anyway._

_"It's the final connection you need to heal the soul. Knowledge by any means. Something strong - something you've always dreamed of knowing about the healer. It creates the final link that mends the broken spirit, and it's far more powerful than you could ever imagine."_

_The Bearer of the Life paused in her tracks, feeling that she's completed her tasks for the time being and delicately kissed the boy's forehead before drawing away. Of course, it didn't do anything other than stir the air around his skin, but it made his eyebrows arch slightly._

_Standing up graciously, her form disappeared into the luminous light, leaving Jessie stranded with her own thoughts._

_Jessie wanted to question the previous few moments, but she didn't dare ponder over the aspects for too long before taking the boy's side. Kneeling down and bringing the form of her brother into her arms, she held him close and allowed him to get over his fears. Of course, the time where he'd receive the knowledge mentioned was drawing closer by the second, but Jessie took no notice of this._

_She had heard it all before. She had seen it all before. She had felt it all before. And, ultimately, she had lived this before. But she still reacted in the same way as she had done last time. Exactly the same way._

_Stroking his dark hair, she whispered into his ear, allowing all the natural instincts to take over her as the pace her heart ran quickened:_

_"You have wings," She told him simply, her voice raspy. And how very right she had been. He did have the potential and it could surge to the heavens if he tried hard enough. "So open them up and fly."_

_And it was these very words that sent the path to the knowledge ablaze in the embers of anticipation._

_Suddenly, he disappeared completely from her grasp and she looked around in absolute bewilderment. Her insides edging in fear, she stood up and observed the pieces of the provoking puzzle, all limbering right before her sight. And then she saw the impossible. Realization struck her. _

_They had taken him -_

_…_

Mother._ Jessica's eyes adjusted to the dazed sight of her; her slender figure hunched over the anxious being who was in fact the redheaded girl herself. Her eyes were met by those delicate hazel orbs, settled upon her so lightly that Jessie almost failed to sense the intensity of her gaze. All of a sudden, she felt as comforted as she ever could be, just simply where she was._

_Then, she figured that she wasn't actually in trouble after all. Sure, she had been messing around in town when her father had explicitly told her otherwise during one of their weekly visits to the markets the week before and had made contact with that dreadful boy with measles, but it wasn't really something her mother blamed her for. The condition, as Amelia had come to learn, was provokingly more excruciating as an adult, so theoretically any sane being would claim that it's better to get it over and done with before it's simply too late. She would have been bound to have caught it sooner or later anyway, she had told herself. Almost every one did at some stage. Well - as long as the child learned her lesson, then all was well, allegedly._

_She dropped her head slightly, lightly stroking Jessica's coloured arms up and down. It sent shivers down the girl's spine, but she didn't complain. It would be far too much of an effort for her, especially when her energy was drained in such a way. Amelia noticed this, and suddenly felt very precautious._

_"Shh…" She hushed, soothing down her anxieties as though it were only second nature. "Don't startle yourself too much there, sweety."_

_Abruptly, a contagious sense of realization hit her. And it was as hard as a rock. Jessie, feeling all the more groggy-headed, turned herself onto her side so that she was facing away from Amelia, pressing her hands to her neck to clear her windpipe of any excessive pressure. A sudden urge to choke on that thick lump, sneakily perched in her throat just waiting to irritate all hell out of her, deep in her overwhelmed her and she somehow now felt useless against it. Inside, she could now tell, Jessie felt like she was burning. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, now feeling nostalgic. And they moved without ease. The simple movement made her head feel like an anchor lost at sea, just simply wandering through the depths with no innovation whatsoever._

_She threw herself back on her back so that she faced the elder woman with bloodshot eyes. The young girl now almost twelve years of age was again comforted by that warm, tender gaze, filled with something little to concern but full of sympathy. It was strange, Jessie thought as her eyes threatened to fall back again, that someone's expression could hold so much detail and actually display that kind of emotion. But again, she realized, she wasn't actually in the best state of mind at the moment._

_Her bed felt cold, strangely enough, like it was almost made of ivory stone. It was hard like a rock, but yet she still felt the texture of the soft material under her fingertips as she clutched on for dear life. Odd - it was most definitely quite peculiar. But these thoughts were soon sky-rocketed from her mind when another icy spasm shot down her spine, startling her completely. She gave it no second thought as she felt a hand settle gently atop her forehead, testing her temperature. There was no need, Jessie eventually decided. For it was obvious enough that she was literally burning inside. Instinctively, she shivered again and whimpered slightly._

_"Hush, Sweety." Her soft voice soothed, settling Jessie's senses almost instantly. Like a gentle lullaby to the tranquil waves of the sea. "You're only going to upset yourself at this rate." She trailed her slender hand down her arm, eventually gripping Jessie's hand again. Trying not to highlight the fact that Jessie's skin felt like sizzling hot coal, she hushed her sweetly. Instead, she smiled._

_Jessie felt like she had just been set alight in periling flames. Her head ached and burned like weak timber, her eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. She was stripped down to only a vest and thin shorts, but still her body was covered in sweat. "Mother," She rasped, trying to hold her voice steady. "I'm sorry."_

_She was hushed again._

_"Shh, Sweety. You need to rest." One hand gently settled on her bulging stomach, Amelia stroked Jessie's hair with the other. From where she was sat only beside the girl on a small stool, Jessie was directly within her reach. But yet she still seemed a mile a way, lost in her own thoughts. "You're not going to get any better if you're getting yourself all riled up now, are you?"_

_She shook her head, but it was still evidently clear that the message hadn't been sent through._

_"But I was bad, an' I left Daddy when he told me not to an' I went up to that boy an'-"_

_"Okay, there, Sweetheart," Amelia interrupted, hushing down Jessie's anxieties gently. The measles was always a bad case to deal with. "It's all right. We're all humans and we make mistakes sometimes - it's perfectly normal. As long as you learn from them."_

_The girl was silenced by this, and it was obvious that she was still dwelling on something foreign to her. Amelia didn't want her making a fuss of anything else when she needed to rest, so she gently took her hand in hers again and gave it a soft squeeze. "It's all right, Jessica." She caught herself there, thinking gently before saying: "I remember when I first had it. I caught it off my oldest sister when I still lived with her." Amelia tried to smile, thinking back long before she knew anything of the future. "She told me not to go anywhere near her, as she was afraid I'd catch it and pass it onto our youngest sibling, but Mother wanted us both to catch it before it got too late." She paused, trailing off slightly. Of course, she knew what Jessie would ask. "It's a lot worse as an adult, you see?"_

_The talk of siblings caught Jessie's attention, and her eyes suddenly dropped to Amelia's bulging stomach. She almost lost herself in thought, but eventually brought herself back to the track. "How much longer until Baby Harold's born, Mother?" It must have been the fiftieth time Jessie had asked this question this past month, but Amelia was willing to let her off for now. She dropped her eyes and thought, only for a moment._

_"It's been almost eight months now, Jessica." Jessie seemed intrigued. "So there should be five or so weeks left to go yet." _

_Jessie had been anticipating the arrival of a new brother ever since her Mother told her about it. The idea seemed extraordinary to her. What would he be like when he'd old enough? - She'd often ask herself. Would he look like her or their Mother? Or even their Father? Jessie wondered._

_Then, a sudden thought occurred. "How do you know he's going to be a boy?"_

_This caught the elder woman off guard, but she gathered herself together quickly enough. "I just know, dear."_  
><em>"How?"<em>

_"You just know these things sometimes," She said, her voice blatant. "It's…Mother's instinct."_

_…_

_He cocked his head to the side, several of his blond locks falling in front of his eyes. Though the looks weren't the same, he seemed to mimic the look her brother often gave her when he was confused. She didn't see how it could have reminded her of her brother, as the man was like ice against water when compared to him. The term wasn't appropriate, but it was the only thing she could actually think of. Literally, she was exhausted._

_- He's safer than you are now. But the Reaper of the Night still hunts desperately for a host - She was caught in headlights. The words; they had - they had just slipped into her mind. Like there was nothing much to them. They were faint, but yet she felt that she shouldn't have heard them. She had to strain her mind to make them out._

_What on Earth did they mean? Jessica asked herself this. 'The Reaper of the Night', he was the worst of all bad spirits. Her Mother had told her of the tale of the Reaper and the Shaman before she had died, and that seemed to broaden her knowledge quite vastly in this situation. The Reaper had been the worst of all the spirits, determined to make the worst of everyone to cause havoc on the world, where as the Shaman's spirit was much more noble. Always placing the needs of others before itself. The two had always been destined to fight to gain influence on the people, and only victory on the Shaman's part could keep them safe. But the Shaman was challenged. Every. Single. Damn. Day. _

_But her Mother hadn't ever finished the story, so the ending was still hanging on the cliff's edge for her. It was a shame really…_

_But why would her mind bring this up? It was completely and utterly insane, she told herself, that she'd be thinking this when she needed to keep herself focused on keeping herself strong. At a dying moment, she could only convince herself that the acts around her were charades, formed from her own mind. It bewildered her to put it simply, and she hadn't the faintest idea of what it was._

_"I-I don't-" She stammered helplessly, reeling within the excruciating pain pecking at her inner spirits. A part of her didn't understand why this was happening and she abruptly began to feel confused. "I-need-help." She admitted hoarsely, though she severely doubted any would arrive. She had tampered with the Fates one time too many and now they were turning around on her, with teeth sharp as Butchers' knives._

_His firm look faltered into one of sympathy. His mouth hadn't moved yet and his form shimmered against the dark of the oncoming day, but she could still here him clearly without much effort being made in her part._

_- Time is short, love - His words told her simply, cutting the conversations as short as possible for the time being. - But you have to remember one thing -_

_"What?" She asked desperately, covering her faces with her arms as she tried to keep herself from screaming out in absolute agony. The end was nearing for her, but time had still not been forgotten._

_Without another word said, her father brought his fingers to his lips and tapped his forehead twice, doing the same to his heart after. The action made no impression on Jessie, as it pained her just to keep herself from whimpering in fear, but it sent these words floundering carefully through her thoughts._

_- Your soul will always be clean. Remember that -_

_The confusion settled within her would eventually boil into anger, he reminded himself. And she would be able to withhold herself no further if the worst should meet the worst. So Saunders', the man who had lost his life seven years before on that unfaithful day in the prison courtyard, cautiously added:_

_- Don't curse your enemies with your last breath, love. Bless who matters… -_

_With that said, the amateur in disguise faded along with his horse into the air and Jessie's conscience slipped away from her body and into the limelight of the dark…_

()()()()

Did she truly and honestly love her brother because of the bond they had formed over the years? Or was she just desperate to keep the last part of her mother close to her? She asked herself, thoughtlessly. There was no question to the fact that he looked like her mother to the very last detail, excluding the obvious. His scruffy hair was exactly the same shade hers had been, his eyes like a reflection, and even his skin tone held the same texture hers had done. It was like Bullseye had been born to loom exactly like her, and only now did Jessie locate the true extent of this comparison.

She recalled the time shortly after her Mother had died. She had loathed the sight of him to the bone at first because of the burden he had brought forward into her life, but then she looked into his eyes a few days afterwards, when the grieving could be taken no further. And then came that very look. The flash of concern within the eyes gentle orbs that had reminded her of the look Amelia used to give her when she was worried. And then, for the first time, she saw the very extent to which he resembled their Mother and thought deeply. He looked exactly like her - even his skin had the same sluggish edge to it. And she thought of how her Mother would've liked it, to have a child who looked like her in those ways.

Jessica had felt disappointed with herself at this point in her life. Her Mother had died bringing him into the world, and she had hated him enough to scowl. Amelia would have chosen to keep him safe instead of herself, and Jessie should've respected these wishes sooner.

She loved Bullseye, obviously, but now something strange pulled her mind into deep thought. Was it really the bond between them both that kept him her ultimate priority? Or was it the fact that she felt like she'd let her Mother's name down if she didn't? A strange force made her question herself now, and she didn't know where to take it.

Groggily lifting herself from her thoughts, Jessie felt something cold beneath her fingertips. At first she didn't respond, but then she dragged her hand forward to find that it felt rough. As hard as stone. Now thoroughly alert, she came to her senses and darted up only to fall back down to her feet when a wave of exhaustion overcame her. She could still smell the antidote on her senses.

Eyes widened, her head snapped to her left where she saw the station's office. And the bars that kept her trapped. No one was there.

She looked around the cell she had been thrown in, completely bewildered in penetrating shock. She saw a bed and something that looked close to a waste bucket, and stone. No one was there.

"Bullseye-"

…

"Okay, Sir," Woodrow Pride concluded, nodding his head in appreciation. "Well, thank you for your time."

The Sheriff watched the patroller turn away and head off in the opposite direction before he turned around himself. He was met by Pete.

"Who was that?" The bounty hunter asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Obviously, he had just forgotten something probably not very important in the last few seconds, as he looked like he was racking his brain with a burning brander. Woody, after several moments thought, decided not to hold him against it.

"He was one of the patrollers," He said, blatantly. He cast his eyes across the area around him as he had always been trained to do, looking for any sign of a troublemaker. "They said they found someone suspicious in the streets today, buying something in the markets that could keep them under disguise. It was oil, or something like that." He paused briefly, piecing his thoughts together. "They had no identification, but he said they reckon it's someone in their late  
>twenties. My guess is that they're trying to get out of town unnoticed."<p>

"Why would somebody get themselves into trouble just fer that?" Pete asked idiotically. Woodrow now felt like he was trying to guide the rat through the key-hole.

"Most likely because they don't like what's going on around here." Pete flinched, and Pride guessed that he was apprehensive of having their conversation overheard. He looked around anxiously, but found nothing.

"Well - did they catch the fella in locks and shackles?"

"Yeah. He said they locked the suspect up in the cell." Woody began to say, only to pause to gain back his thoughts. His mind briefly flickered over to the prospect of love, only to have him dismiss it instantaneously. That was the last thing that should be on his mind at the moment. "I reckon we ought a pay this 'rule-breaker' a visit."

…

Jessie couldn't believe it.

She slowly sunk to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest. Her eyes were fixed blatantly on a point on the wall opposite, completely lost. She didn't understand. It was all just…provoking logic to her. What she couldn't comprehend only became far more complex within her mind as the seconds ticked by aimlessly, tugging her forward into an endless charade.

Coldness in the air touched her skin. And then, it hit her. Startled with disbelief, she tore her eyes from the wall and scanned the area around her. Nothing but a desk past the cell and nothing but a bed in it. She thought she had solved it a few minutes before, but the tragic information hadn't been processed in the slightest. It had dwelled on her, but it hadn't sunk in. Now, she panicked.

"Bullseye!"

No response.

Shaken to the bone, she awkwardly pushed herself to her feet with her decent hand and felt her senses drop drowsily. She was completely knackered. The cold air rested on her again, and a shiver of apprehension darted down her spine. She nearly collapsed because of it as soon as she got up, but backed herself against the wall long enough to keep her balance.

-_Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate! Oh, for Heaven's sake, concentrate!-_

An attempt was made on her behalf; there was no doubt about it. But it was difficult. Extremely difficult. She felt like a lion caught in ice. The shock overwhelmed her completely, running through her nerves like venom until it turned toxic. The disbelief turned into fury. But with nothing to take it all out on, the fury turned into something else entirely. A thought that broke her heart.

Sorrow.

She forced herself from her entranced state, internally loathing herself for a split second. At last she had fixed the pieces of the puzzle back in place, but she wasn't optimistic. The bars on the cell and the sense of complete isolation said it all -

_The bullets of mortality, she had had heard before. Far too many times to count, actually. Hearing it was second nature where she was now: The gunshot tearing vigorously through the Earth's silent winds, plagued with the misuse of what had once been flamboyant; one's last cry before their heart was pierced, shutting down their body completely._

_Some had been dignified; some just half-hearted pleas of mercy; a fair few pain-riddled grunts; others sharp howls of pain ripping out and through the victims'. And the rest - well - they simply just faded away into the undergrowth of reality in silence. The erupting cheers from the narrow-minded civilians who could no longer foresee the absolute torture inflicted upon the prisoners on a daily basis could always be heard from bystanders and, sometimes, even the victims last words would encrypt themselves into the back of her mind, haunting her indefinitely. Most of them beginning with a simple 'I'm' and ending sorrowfully with a 'Sorry'. It was no surprise that it did haunt her actually, since the Execution Court could be seen through her small cell window._

_Most of the prisoners slaughtered in the courts were only guilty of crimes which had once been seen as explanatory; like robbing a rarely found bank to keep their families alive when desperation took its toll or for killing a man who had committed far worse crimes, such as for tolerating slavery or for beating their waves mercilessly for instance. Some men even managed to extend their morals to (on occasion) finding multiple cases of rape plausible. And most got away with the offence with no more than a lifted eyebrow in the Modern Day's world._

_Jessica Jane had come to learn just how severe petty crimes had become. A hint of doubt upon one's motives could be deadly. Holding the wrong blood could be disgraceful and leading the General Escorts on to a faulty scent is most definitely lethal. She hadn't been guilty of every single one of the following crimes listed previously, unravelling in some right before her very eyes, but she had come to hand with the consequences in person. There was no denying this; especially when she was reminded of such a thing every time she heard a gun shot echoing through the courts - like how she did just now for instance._

_Nothing could overpower the fear creeping towards her nerves when the simple bullet of the magnum she had grown ever so familiar with during the course of her imprisonment pierced the chest of its next victim, landing pitifully within the heart and banishing all traces of life completely with a single touch, the lurching snarl of the gunshot racing through the night like revolving winds and overriding the ghastly presence of unnatural silence like contaminated toxins. This one had lost his life in silence - or had it been a poor woman this time? Jessica ha grown out of the habit of looking through her cell window during the times of executions, because she would only ever be left traumatized by the scalding images and the lurking recollections of such events; so it had become almost impossible for her to tell the difference between the genders when they went away so quietly._

_She hugged herself as she backed herself against the cold wall of her prison cell, feeling the damp moisture perched deeply within the grains of the surface soak the shirt she wore - she couldn't even tell what colour it had once been now, because of the dirt and the dust that would embed itself into the material like the nectar of Satan encrypting itself within the body of a selected individual._

_Desolation crested within her, and she felt alone. More so now than she had before after hearing the happenings of a human being losing their life within the hands of unearthly superiors. The feeling of emptiness had grown stronger in recent months, as they had taken her brother away from company in her cell with her being so close to her day of execution. Two hundred and thirty months and nine days old was the minimum age one had to be for an execution to take place - Nineteen years, two months and nine days in a simplified form. As far as Jessica Jane knew, she was approximately eighteen years and eleven months of age. But in truth though, she honestly couldn't remember, the days only morphed together where she was; what she thought had happened yesterday may have happened last week for all she knew. However, she knew 'they' were counting down. They always were…_

_With her being so close to execution, they took her brother away for a certain reason she couldn't bring herself to understand. They believed having her in the company of someone would make her stronger when her day arrived and more resistant to superior forces and in no way did they want this. In reality, though they wouldn't dare tell her this, they wanted her to beg for mercy when eye and eye with her executioner…_

_Just as they did with everyone -_

The sound of rusty hinges being tested of their strength drew Jessica back to reality. She sunk to the floor, instinctively burying her head in her hands. She wanted to cry, to let out all her anxieties in the way Amelia Jane had suggested all those years back before the time of her death. But she couldn't. Jessie felt completely drained.

She had lost him. The last key to her mother, and she had let something happen to him. The worst was, she had no idea where he was or what had been done with him. Anything could happen to him, literally. Anything.

She sat there as the officers entered the room. The lock hadn't even been tested by her yet, but Jessie knew she wouldn't have been able to break it - she had tried the last time, and nearly got herself shot by the late Sheriff of Area Five, District Eleven.

"I swear to the Tarnations, Sheriff, that they said nothing more than that. I've told yer backside five times already."

Silence settled only briefly. Jessica Jane wondered what the answer would be.

"You're absolutely certain he isn't anywhere in this town?"

Her heart dropped.


	15. The Differences Between Life and Death

Chapter Fourteen

That was his voice.

In shock and in disbelief, she brought her legs to her chest again, hugging her knees fiercely. She couldn't believe what was happening one bit, and now she felt apprehensive. The voice she had heard just then was absolutely unmistakable locking her senses right into place. Tension running through her nerves was one of the worst feelings she could have ever had, aching her internally. This was nothing like she had expected. No - she wouldn't have guessed this in dozen decades, never mind simply come up with a brief conclusion as to what she would do exactly if the situation arose. That was just out of her perspective completely.

Not daring to look to the side in fear of meeting his gaze, she used all of her will power up then and there. She mentally calculated how desperate she had been to just look at him again over the last several months, and how plainly indolent she had been during the fight that had left her broken inside. She never could keep herself from pondering aimlessly over the fact that she had been perfectly safe at the Sheriff's side, even if she and her brother hadn't been in the best physical state. They would've been free from the law and they wouldn't have to wander blandly through the streets looting and spending dragging nights at abandoned buildings. But now everything had gone to shreds because of her ignorance, her brother was gone and she hadn't the faintest clue of where he could've been.

She had obviously been drugged, but by who and what she had no clue. But the fact that someone had done this to her and locked her up must've meant that they were suspicious on her part, and the idea that her identity might have been given away left her feeling terrified. If she was recognized as the runaway fugitive she really was, then it'd be straight to the execution courts with her and she'd be dead within the week. And she had no idea what'd happen with Bullseye if that'd be the case and she didn't want to imagine it.

Internally, she was like a volcano waiting to hurl out its ashes in the direction of the rest of the world, but on the outside she knew she was as still as a statue looking yonder at some odd spectacle that meant little to nothing to Society. Apprehensive of the absolute worst, she wrung her hands together forcefully. The Sheriff was right there, the person she had wanted to be in the presence of for so long she'd been desperate. But this wasn't how things were supposed to go. Canir had been murdered, the one person she could've trusted with a blind eye, and Bullseye was no where to be seen. Anything could have happened to him, and this was what tortured her the most.

"Well, well, well," An unfamiliar voice drawled. From the height of the tone, she guessed it belonged to an elderly man, maybe in his late fifties. "It looks like the draft brought in a Deadbeat, Sheriff. What d'ya reckon it was charged for?"

She lowered her head against her knees, biting her lip to conceal her anxieties. She only had to hope that the oil had been enough to disorient her identity. But she knew that if he saw her face she'd be a goner.

"Now, now, Pete." He protested, his tone as soothing as she'd remembered. "No need to let them aggravate you." From the looks of it, the patrollers had caught a local woman desperate enough to steal from good-earning people at the markets. That was the most frequent case he came across, but not for the Dead Ends. "It's not our case to deal with, anyway." He stated, calmly. She didn't feel any more relaxed in her position. If he even saw her face, then she was done for like no tomorrow. "We just have to leave it to the Sheriff's of 'this' area."

"So then we let them know about it tonight?"

"Once we're sure this area's cleared of Davies."

Her heart stopped again there. Woody'd been looking for him? The man who had just been killed moments before she had been made unconscious? She thought briefly about lifting her head to gaze to her left where she knew the two of them stood, but then decided otherwise. She couldn't let them find out who she truly was. She had no idea what the Sheriff had been ordered to do if he found the fugitive, but she knew she could be shot then and there if she wasn't careful. Then a thought occurred: What if they'd ordered the killing of Canir on sight? It made her inside's clench in terror. It was just too dreadful to wrap her mind around.

"Ah! That's what I meant to tell you, Sheriff!" The man named Pete suddenly proclaimed in vainglory. "The patroller found a body near 'bout where they found the woman, allegedly. His appearance matched their description, but they had no other reference to clarify this. The Bunko Artist must'a been as fine as ripe gravy to keep from their eyes for that long. Can you believe it? He could've been right in front of them!" Jessie's spirits dropped.

"It might just be a coincidence - " Woodrow began only to be cut off.

"They said they also found a child," Pete said, and Jessie's attention was caught instantly. Her throat swelled as she tried to hold in the terrified gasp.

"They did?"

"Yes, but he refused to cooperate, accordingly." Jessie was now shaking. Unbeknownst to her, the Sheriff quickly flashed his eyes in her direction. "They couldn't get a single word out of the brat."

She was now withholding the urge to break completely and lash out at the old man who, she could tell, was standing right against the bars of her cell. He took another long look at her, at the hair colour he saw oh so frequently. Women would smother their hair around these parts with oil to avoid standing out in a crowd. It was how they got around to easily and gracefully.

And then it struck him, the pieces of the puzzle falling together in harmony as his senses battled one another.

"And what are they doing with him?"

"They're taking him to the headquaters to get ahold of his identity. They have to check nowadays, especially after the case with Saunders' children."

She couldn't help herself there. Her heart was just thumping far too rapidly in her chest and her thoughts were just screaming too many things for her to understand - she lifted her head just slightly, and caught sight of the Sheriff looking right at her.

"Who's Saunders?" Woodrow asked carefully, as though he were truly expecting some hazardous reaction from the woman sat in the cell. Hugging herself in fear the very same way she had done...

"You don't know?" Woody's silence spoke for itself. "That mudsill Saunders' was one of the Long Run's your father executed. I say that's a sturdy accomplishment for him to have on his gravestone." He spoke rhetorically of course, but at that moment she snapped.

Taking the both of them by surprise, she lifted herself to her feet and hauled herself over to where the old man stood just beside the bars. She had only known him for a few minutes, but already she hated his guts. She reached out to grab him by his collar, but the bounty hunter was able to get out of the way in time to save the ambush. Nonetheless, he gaped at her in complete and utter shock. The Sheriff's jaw dropped like a tonne of bricks.

"You faggot!" She exclaimed in fury, her tone seething to the core. "You foul, loathesome faggot!"

She wanted to charge at the Sheriff as well, but by that time he was far from her reach. The adrenaline rushing through her was just far too overpowering to ignore. She glared from Pete to Woodrow in absolute hatred. She didn't want to believe what she had just heard, that Woodrow's father had been the one to kill hers, but the overlying truth was vivid. Her life had been turned upside down because of it.

But then the rush faded, and she became dreadfully aware of what she had just done. Woody's eyes widened to their extent as he took in the sight of her: The girl he had been ordered to turn in immediately if found, to await death that would follow quickly.

"Jessie!" There was no question as to who she was. Her eyes said it all...

Pete turned his head to the Sheriff in shock. "You know her?"

"Yeah-"

"You're a lying little snake, you know that Woody?" She said venemously. Her words her harsher on him than they had been the last time he'd met her. "You jerk! You told me you were sorry!"

That was when all the pieces of the puzzle fell in place melediously with one another. It clicked in his head as Pete's words ran over in his mind.

-That mudsill Saunders' was one of the Long Run's your father executed-

Taking into account how Jessie had reacted and what she had once told him, Woody came to his conclusion quickly. He couldn't believe it...he finally knew her convicted crime. She and her brother were held in captivity for simply being alive -

"My God..." He murmured, taking another step back.

Pete glanced from Woodrow to Jessie in bewilderment. "What is it, Sheriff? I certainly haven't seen you kick up an act like this before."

Jessie's breaths were hard and heavy as she glared icily at the two of them, the look in her eyes one Woody had never seen before. Her expression was unfathomable. Jessie could tell from his look that he was trying to piece something together in her mind, and suddenly felt confusion dwell in her emotions. Something about this wasn't right.

Her father had been shot. She had told him that a long time ago. But she had never told him anything more than that, leaving the possibilities endless in the back of Woodrow's mind. He could have been killed in a riot, or out of vengeance in the streets. But he'd have never guessed this, that she could be the child of a Long Run. That her blood was contaminated... It just hadn't seemed plausible, or even a option, until now. Something else became clear to Woody at that time, and he gasped in shock.

Raymond Pride had been Saunders' executioner. And Jessica Jane was the daughter of this Long Run.

"God in Tarnation, Pride!" Pete exclaimed as he examined the flabbergasted Woody. "Just spit the dirt out and tell me."

Woody lifted his head and felt his eyes settle upon her. She had changed so much from the last time he'd met her. She looked weaker, and something about the way she clutched the bars with her hands suggested that she had been subjected to injury sometime in the last year. She had even altered her appearance, too. All in all, he wouldn't have recognized her had it not been for the electric currents rushing through her emerald orbs. But now that she was here, what was he to do? He hadn't a clue.

Slowly, Woody brought himself back to his senses. "You know of her, Pete." He said simply, and then all of a sudden it clicked in Pete's mind and his heavy eyes broadened. "But I never knew this. N-never -"

Disbelief crossed her expression. "You told me you were sorry for it, Woody..." Her voice trailed off in melencholy. She simply didn't know how to put her emotions into order. Jessie sunk lower until she could feel pain floundering effortlessly through her right arm. Woody took in the look and saw she was truly heartbroken. And then realization of the worst sort kicked itself into place.

"Jessie?" He asked, his voice edged. "Where's Bullseye?"

Her silence told him everything she feared. She didn't know where her brother was, but she knew it was him that Pete had been talking about before. And now Woody knew it too. They had kidnapped Bullseye.

Pete still felt left out. "What on Earth is going on here? Can someone explain to me what's happening, and who the hell she is?"

"They took her brother, Pete." Woody told him simply, his arms crossing his chest as he gazed at Jessie glumly. "And Saunders was her father." At this Pete's confusion became evident shock.

"What?" He exclaimed. "You mean we have a Long Run's offspring on our hands now?"

"I'm afraid so."

"But we're gonna get ourselves killed."

"Don't you think I'm aware of that, Pete?" Woody asked plainly, his heart aching when he saw the way Jessie was shaking.

"We have to take her back, Sheriff." Pete proclaimed. "I know what yer thinking, but we can't hide her from them." Jessie's insides clenched at this, and she knew she'd be killed within a week if Woody agreed. He just couldn't do this to her, leave her for dead again. It wasn't fair. "They'll have our heads blown within a week if they find out."

So it fails both ways, Jessie supposed.

Woody exhaled a large sigh and tilted his head back. The pressure building up within him was threatening to veer him over the edge, and he simply couldn't be admitted into such a torture for so long. It was irrational. His eyes were still locked on Jessie's vibrating form, and thought of what a life would be wasted if he followed his logic instead of his torn heart. A boy would be left with nothing, and he'd be left with an annihilated heart.

Then, Jessie saw no way out of it. She had to ask for the sake of herself and her brother. "Woody, please? You have to help me." Desperation took over her. "Please? He's all I've got."

"Sheriff! You can't possibly-"

"Just be quiet for a moment, Pete!" Woody interrupted, his voice sharp and impatient. Jessie was beginning to dislike Pete already, but then reminded herself that he had a point. They would all be killed if they kept her concealed.

"Woody..." Her voice trailed, tugging at the strings of his heart with lingering compassion. "Please?"

"Sheriff!"

"Just be quiet, both of you-" Woody threw back his head again and let out a huge sigh. He just couldn't believe any of this was happening.

She accepted his uncertainty as her defeat. Throwing herself back against the wall, she buried her head in her hands and brought her knees to her chest. However, she was then surprised when she heard him speak up.

"I'll think about it."

And then he was left to ponder over the differences between Life and Death - quite literally.

...

_The Sheriff lifted his head from his desk at the main station in Area Five, District Eleven, and came across nothing other than the sight he usually met. The poor girl sat against the cell's wall cradling the child against her chest. All the while thinking that it shouldn't be possible, having such individuals confined in such condensed places when their lives weren't even close to starting, especially for the timid, frail boy. This was no place for a child to grow up._

_"Miss Jane?"_

_That was unexpected. He hadn't spoken to her in days, just walking in the room by six sharp in the morning and leaving at half-nine at night, allowing all-nighter officers to provide food and water to the two. From the little they ate, the Sheriff eventually saw that they had no need to exercise, which is something else that really bothered him. The logic of the G.E often was far too irrational to be true._

_She looked up at him, shock evident in her expression - she was never addressed in that way. And all of a sudden she felt disbelief boiling up in her nerves blacking her mind completely. The only person she spoke directly to was Bullseye, who seemed to understand every word she said through the tone of her voice, but she could never engage in direct conversation which made her feel forlorn inside at times. So the fact that the Sheriff had just absurdly spoken up in term for no apparent reason shocked her greatly._

_But she answered still, internally unnerved: "Yes - sir?"_

_"How old are you? Approximately speaking, of course."_

_Eyes widening slightly, she lifted her head and gaped at him, quite confused. She was sure that they'd have this information on record, so the Sheriff asking her of this was quite peculiar. Racking her mind for a few moments, trying to think of something - anything at all - to do, she eventually answered him. Unsure of whether to be precautious or settled, she held er brother's sleeping form against her closer._

_"I'm seventeen years of age, sir." And then she left it at that, daring not to say anything more in fear of pouring her heart out. She had been a minor during her time of imprisonment and a lumbering Death sentence should be nothing a seventeen-year-old should have hanging over their shoulders. Her Fate drew her day after day into a sense of realization she did not want to arrive at. And it was a destiny so horrifying she did not even want to think about it. But she was challenged in this environment - every single day. She couldn't just drop the subject from her mind completely, because her father had died unfairly and she had her brother here to remind her constantly of what she was to leave behind. A stranded little boy, scared witless out of his mind left at the hands of the General Escorts; the world's cruel dictators._

_She didn't want to die - but someday in her near future, she will have to. Whether she had anything to lose or not, they'd make sure her life wouldn't disrupt the acts of society and the methods of thinking the G.E had inflicted upon their subjects. A bullet to the heart, and then everything she knew would just…shatter into velvet pieces. Her brother would be left to them completely out of his own will, and then the waiting game would continue. He'd wait…and wait, and he'd be alone. No-one by his side to offer him guidance when he was completely out of his mind with paralysing fear, and no one to offer him the encouraging words he couldn't muster.. He wouldn't be comforted during the worst of times like Jessie had been, and he'd be completely isolated. A stranded little boy, alone to play the waiting game - alone to await the grasp of Death and an indolent Fate._

_And the thought of this tore her heart apart. Death would arrive immediately after she hit age, and she didn't know what would happen to him afterwards. She loved him and cared for him in a way no other person in his life could and she had no idea how the loss would influence him. He couldn't utter a single word as it was, but a tragedy as big as that could annihilate his spirits completely. Leaving them to rot, simple as._

_She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and awaiting the Sheriff's response. He was fidgeting with his fingers, his face twisting this way and that as he thought. Jessica arched her eyebrows for a moment, taken aback by the Sheriff's sudden spell of uncertainty, and resisted the powerful urge to question his actions._

_'It's none of my business whether I like it or not.'_

_So she waited, patiently, for the train of provoking thought to clear his mind. But it was odd of him, she reckoned. Almost every day she saw him, and yet she had never seen him act like this. "And how old is your brother?"_

_Your brother. He was addressing them in odd ways - one's quite polite and direct, unlike others'. The rest of officer's never referred to her as Miss Jane, and most definitely did not refer to Bullseye as 'Your brother'. It was always 'The Boy'. But the Sheriff….well, he didn't seem as narrow as the rest of them - like he even had the decency to address prisoners, especially female convicts, as beings who had the right to gain expect._

_It was in his belief actually, and Jessie had been able to come to terms with this vaguely as time went on. No matter who he was speaking to, or what they had done in their lives, he treated them with dignity. It was the only way to get the point across to a prisoner at times, she presumed. Well, she thought this at least. Respect was given to those who hand it back; something her Father always told her._

_"There isn't a coward alive who would treat an equal as equal." And he had been right. A criminal wouldn't come to terms with agreement willingly unless they were sure of it, and even she had to admit that she felt like this at times. Though the words of the heart were never spoken by her in fear of having them turned around on her completely. Holding her tongue was also another thing Robert Saunders had taught her…_

_Eventually dealing with the inner turmoil spreading from her heart to where her nerves slept, she handed the answer the Sheriff wanted. "Near five years of age, sir."_

_"Okay," Woodrow muttered, stretching his hands behind his hand and leaning back on his chair. Eyes flicking to the back of his eyelids for just a brief moment, he seemed to gain track of his thoughts. "And how long have the two of you been held in captivity?"_

_What on Earth…? She caught herself quickly, attempting not to make the disbelief apparent in her expression. First asking about their ages, and then addressing Bullseye in such a way, and now this? She had never shared anything personal with the Sheriff, though she was sure he knew a heck of a lot more about her than he let on. There was something luring in the thick tone of his voice, however, that caught her attention and drew her closer. The curiosity built up in her until she was no longer able to hide it away at the back of her mind where darkness of the worst sorts ensued. And of course, this brought forward another one of his sayings:_

_'It was the Curiosity that killed the cat.' Which was followed by a tremendously long, boring lecture on the conditions in which the barnyard animals they own should be kept at. This thought brought a smile to her face and she almost giggled. But a falter in emotion later and then she just looked grey, the dullest of all sorts._

_But then she realized that she had to answer him, otherwise she'd look vulnerable, and she couldn't trust anyone in this type of environment. Just a trace of weakness, and there were bound to be bloodhounds sneaking about to trace down the scent to the appropriate target. It was a question she thought about only weakly, as her mental countdown had been absolutely flawless over the last few years. Ever since she heard that one gun shot that destroyed her life completely… "Two and a half years." She wasn't going to say anything else, so she left it at that for the time being._

_"So you were fourteen when arrested.." The Sheriff feared he may be crossing the line with that question - one that could easily draw her towards the state where no bars were held to keep her restrained. But it was a question he had to ask, and she'd realize the importance of this sooner or later._

_"Near fifteen, sir - yes."_

_They'd told him she was a danger to the community, and that was why she had been locked up and branded a Dead End. A Fate beyond his interpretational imagination awaited her, and all because of this convict term. But yet she didn't look dangerous; she looked vulnerable against the hands of the General Escorts. Uncertainty cascading his thoughts left him wandering through what must only be a sense of dread. This girl, seemingly quite innocent of the crimes she had committed, was going to be shot when her inner character truly contradicted stereotypes. And he wanted to know why._

_He observed the cell across from him, examining the young boy who rested in slumber against her chest. Sometimes she'd place him on the bed, but at other times she held him close to her for comfort. Either way, the Sheriff thought, this was no place for a child to grow up in and he wanted to do something to influence the matter's path to head in the right direction._

_"So then what happened with him?" He asked, eyes flitting over to the boy. "Why is he here?"_

_It was a matter that had been dawning on him for ages. One he had never wanted to talk about. She was awaiting the death sentence for a crime committed as a minor and her brother was being held prisoner for something in his past he wouldn't even remember. The boy would've been two years of age, if his calculations were correct, and he most certainly wouldn't remember what had happened to the two of them, or even what life had been like for the two of them before all of this. It was a very unfortunate matter - yes - and the Sheriff felt sympathy crossing his thoughts towards the two of them. For the first time in his life, melancholy overwhelmed his heart and he was at a loss for anything better to say. He could elusively gather memories from the time of his childhood, though they stuck in bits and pieces at the back of his mind with no real aim towards anything set in action. Most of it had been spent inside his home, where his family were kept safe and isolated from the rest of the desperate society, and the rest of the time he remembered was spent on the streets, where he came across many disturbing sights ranging from the infected dog to drunk civilians that still threatened to haunt his mind until this day. But he hadn't been confined, at least, and his family had owned all the essentials in life they could've ever needed. He'd been a free being, so to being, exactly unlike the young woman and the child that sat before him._

_He was only nineteen years of age, but he had the experience and the credit of a fair, noble man. And he had caught sight of many prisoners and criminals during his time, all quite concise in personality and inherited character. But no-one compared to Miss Jessica Jane. For once, he had a convict who didn't seem guilty, someone who didn't seem as cold-hearted as the stereotypes say. She was someone different to him, and he sure as hell knew it._

_"'Cause there's nowhere else for him to go."_

_Typical, Woodrow Pride thought with an internal scowl. That is bloody, damn typical of them. But he thought no more of it. All venomous hunches were only ever thought with vigour in passing. People can be damaged and hurt by the words of the mind, and he didn't want to risk anything._

_"So they brought him here?"_

_"Yeah, sir…" She murmured, absolutely bewildered. All was well, then, he reckoned. Her brother would've been better off with someone who cared for him than with anyone else. Then, she surprised him slightly by asking the question that was beginning to meander through her mind without any aim. "Is this relevant?"_

_He thought only a moment. "You'll see for yourself in a minute." Confusion topping her off, she was about to say something else when she stopped herself. There was only so much to say, apparently. "So you were a minor when sentenced?" She nodded, her eyebrows arching. Sighing internally, he decided it best to cut straight to the point. "You do know that I'm doing all I can to see the letdown of this sentence over, don't you?"_

_She did not. Dumbfounded where she sat, she gaped at him. In all the time he had spent keeping eye on her, she'd never have expected the true morals of his sense and heart. But here he was, saying that. She was truly beginning to wonder now… "Really?"_

_"Yes, ma'am." He confirmed, nodding firmly. "I don't see reason for them to waste life that hasn't been lived."_

_And she stared at him, completely out of her mind in distress close to relief. Something within her changed, and she saw him as not only her guardian, but also her possible saviour for the months to come._

_At a lack of breath, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed with something close to desire. What she saw in the Sheriff was altered completely at that point, and she felt a great sense of relief swell up inside her. She looked at him in disbelief, pondering over what he had just told her in spite of herself. The Sheriff leaned forward at his desk slightly to observe the girl across from him in her surroundings of dust and captivity and thought how ironic it was that only he seemed to notice that she didn't belong there in the slightest. If not for her sake, then at least for the sake of her younger brother who hadn't any recollection of what it was like to live outside of the bars that kept the two of them barriered from the rest of society._

_His hands moved to his thighs, where he let out a sigh and drew in a deep breath. For a moment he froze, obviously dwelling on some thought alien to him. "I don't believe in taking life as punishment, ma'am." He said blatantly, as though the truth couldn't have been any clearer to him. When he thought about it some more, he realized that this was true. He didn't agree with it and he never had, but he had always been taught to follow instruction without question. So he had, for many years. But this didn't go to say that he'd never been challenged, every day. "If they asked me, I'd say let the convicted stand as charged until they show themselves fit."_

_A smile lit Jessie's face, a smile that felt welcome but yet completely foreign to the Sheriff. And then he realized - he had never seen her lips move like that before, in such a welcoming way that seemed to melt his heart right there on the spot. Not once. But yet, she still didn't understand him. "What do you mean?"_

_He pondered over that expression briefly. He had the idea framed in mind, but findings the words to open the box and haul it out just felt far from his reach. "Any criminals imprisoned for their fines should be allowed to redeem themselves before they set the death sentence, was what I meant to say." He paused only a moment, finding the time to flash a smile in her direction. Her senses were sent astray. "I say they should know what they're taking before they brand the sentence golden. There's always more than one side to a living being, but sometimes they make up their minds after only seeing the facade."_

_His logic was superlative. She'd never seen this side to him before, and suddenly her thoughts were sent wandering in no purposeful direction just to feel the freedom brush their essence. He was right, there is always another side to a human being, but sometimes it's sensing it there and not branding it that does the trick to any situation. She had sensed something different in him from the start, but she'd never have guessed what it was. Then her jaw dropped slightly but slowly. He'd obviously seen the other side to her, the one she barely knew of. But what was this side like? Was it the one frightened of the Fate she was set to face? Or was it the one who'd legged it off in no intentional direction at her parents old ranch down south just to feel the majestic winds whisper words to her that no-one else would ever be able to understand? Or was it the passive side to her that forcefully refused to comply with the little insurborination she still had within her, suffering in the silence? She could only wonder._

_Without another word said, she picked up her sleeping brother and carried him over to the metal framed bed to rest him under the thin quilt that suspended unevenly from the right side. Woody eyed her in interest rocking back and forth on his chair as she did this. There was definitely something about her that made her innocent from the rest. Most other prisoners he had met were on the verge of their sanity, desperately clinging onto that very fine string like a piece of ice a thousand meters above frozen sea level. They'd turned cold hearted eventually, learning to hate the world for all of its malevolent schemes and plot-holes. But she wasn't. There was still a little bit left of her that cared for her brother dearly; the only person she had left in this world. And this was something Woody had noticed from the very start. She was still human inside. And humans shouldn't be treated in such a way._

_They should be free. Soaring through sponanity just to feel like they belonged in the world, and to feel like themselves. She wasn't free. She was trapped like a rat in a blocked pipe. And he hated this fact._

_She wrung her hands together as she dropped her eyes to the resting boy, silent for a moment as she observed him. He looked just like their mother, and began to appear more and more like her every day. But there was still something missing, like there should be something to it. She paused in deep thought pondering over this expression. There wasn't much else to do, so she might as well cushion the blow until its sweet._

_"Do you think he remembers what it's like?" The Sheriff's voice spoke out of nowhere, drawing her only gently from her thoughts. Without moving her eyes, she made it clear she was listening by the way her body stiffened. "To live without the fear?"_

_The Sheriff knew they were scared. Always had done. It was common anticipation that would follow with such a threat on one's well-being - a lurking presence no-one liked to talk about. He was sure he'd feel the same way if he were in her position, waiting for her death to come like she knew it would. He'd be petrified, actually, wondering why he hadn't lived life whilst he'd still had the chance..._

_Clearing her throat, she closed her eyes to sooth her thoughts. "I don't believe so, no." Jessie shook her head. Why was she even answering him? Then she realized that it was the only thing revealing his character to her at the moment so said nothing to it. Her lips twitched, making it obvious that she was uncomfortable being asked this, and opened her eyes. Nothing had changed, like she'd hoped. It still wasn't a dream - a nightmare she could escape from by closing her eyes tightly and opening them to the world. "He was much too young to remember."_

_"So I take it you don't have any parents from the looks of it?" He knew this question was going to cross the line, yet again. But it was a question he couldn't keep himself from asking if it'd reveal to him more about her past, and why she may have moved towards a life of crime. Perhaps she had been arrested for stealing? He couldn't blame her, pendantically. Sometimes people would just get desperate and steal anything they could get their hands on._

_She moved her hand towards Bullseye's hair, stroking it gently the way she'd always done if he was scared... Inhaling deeply, she let the breath go on heavy lungs. "Mother died during childbirth. She'd become ill just before she gave birth to Bullseye and delivering him was just too much for her..." She held back a wince at the thought, remembering how she'd been like when Robert had told her of her Mother's unstable condition just after Baby Boy Harold was born. She'd died only five minutes after her daughter had been told, and that day scarred her even to this point. "And our Father..."_

_She couldn't continue. Thoughts of the past were bringing back memories she couldn't bear. Her heart started to swell and her breath caught in her throat as she tried to hold back the tears. Jessie always tried to forget the past and keep oblivious to the future to focus on the present, on how she and her brother were still together, but she was always being challenged. And she faced a stronger one every new day. It was too much for her at times, but she held it in to sweeten her look._

_Woody dropped his brow-line in concern, feeling very sympathetic towards her. "You don't have to continue - "_

_"No-" She interrupted, biting a lip to keep her senses patient. "He - well - he was shot just before I turned fifteen."_

_Silence lingered through the room, daring her to break down right in front of him. "I'm sorry..."_

_She wanted to believe that he was. But if he knew what she thought he might, then she didn't reckon he would be. Most people were happy that the Long Run's were being taken care of by the General Escorts, slowly but surely. Once they were gone the country could finally be at peace, only to then point their fingers at their contaminated off-spring, and so on until tranquillity in society was impossible to attain. It was the way things worked around here, and the way things would continue to run for a very long time. "It's all right," She murmured half-heartedly, her eyes on Bullseye as he shifted in his sleep. He'd only have a short while longer now until he woke up thinking about what horrible things would happen to them next, so she wanted him to slumber peacefully. "It's not like you could have done anythin' 'bout it."_

_She was right there, but wrong unbeknownst to him. He truly was sorry for her. The girl named Jessica Jane had lost many values in life, and would soon leave that small child with nothing. The thought made him uneasy, but he certainly wanted to do something about it. And his word was his honest bond._

_"No, you're right." He said numbly, only to straighten his posture when she turned her head towards him and caught his gaze. "But I swear to my rightful word that I will not give up on you. From the bottom of my heart, I swear I'll get you both through this one way or another."_

_Jessie wanted to believe him. It was the only thing that'd ever get her through this. So she clung onto this hope praying to the Gods that he'd be right, for the both of them -_

...

"Jessica!" A clash of metal against skin fibres and bone hauled her away from reality. She woke suddenly at the commotion with an instinctive start. "God darnit! This wretched hoosegow ain't nothing but dragged out rubbish."

In shock she pressed her back to the wall firmly examining what she now saw with caution. It was the old man she had seen before, and he was standing at the cell door. The startle she had just received made her breath heavily as her heart pounded harder in her chest. All the while whilst she watched him, a thought suddenly occurred to her when she saw what he was holding:

'Is that dynamite?' Fortunately, what he did next said it all. Striking a match he had grabbed from his dungaree's chest pocket, he held the flame against the red stick's fuse and waited until it caught fire until he threw the match down sharply. Crushing the flame with the hilt of his boot, he carefully inserted the small explosive into the key hole at the cell's padded lock.

What on Earth? The stick of dynamite was so small that it could actually be held against the cell's bars, leaving a very confused Jessie sitting there wondering what in the name of Satan he was doing. And then another thought occurred to her, one that shocked her completely and boundlessly to her very inner core. He was going to kill her.

She still remained wordless even after he took a step back from the explosive device, her throat condensed in utter apprehension. She had no idea what he was doing, and the fact that she knew nothing of his intentions was what petrified her the most. What was he trying to do? - she wondered. Would she be living when the minute strikes its end? These were all weary thoughts one would ponder over during their last few moments, and by God she was no exception.

"What are you doing?" She eventually found the words to speak. Her eyes were broad and round as she gaped at the bounty hunter, just daring him to answer. When he furrowed his eyebrows, obviously lost in thought as he examined the lock with narrowed eyes, she truly began to worry. "Pete!"

He snapped out of his trance at that. "What do you think I'm doin'? Get back!" With this said she did not need to be told twice. Snapping to her senses and breathing in a deep breath, she threw herself back and scurried underneath the cell's bed.

And then her world went haywire as the dynamite erupted into a hectic blast -


	16. The Child of the Eve

Anger and frustration were the strangest of all emotions. They were far more powerful than a large majority of the rest, except perhaps the cruellest show of inner affection. An urge so powerful took over the child's body as he came around to his senses, finally.

It was so strange - to feel so much hatred inside him. Unnatural, so it may be. So peculiar to have it inside of him, a young boy who knew no better than to fear the world and its ways. It was a very striking emotion - one that overrode his senses completely contaminating his thoughts with one specimen so vivid it made him feel nauseous inside.

The child was curled up in a ball, shivering as the loathe and the despair boiled up inside him. He was shaking so vigorously that it appeared he'd burst any moment in out-lashed of belligerence and thwart. Sweat was breaking in patches across his body where he laid rolled in despair and agony. He felt so angry; that he could be led to hell and back by someone he thought he could trust. That he could let the fates play with him in such a way making him feel so much antagonism for the one person he ever could've been able to trust.

Trust. Now that is what was the problem. The prison cells never explained what it was, but he knew how it felt to feel attached to someone. Surely that must be trust? A part of him had no idea, but he knew that whatever it was that'd kept him silent even through his expression despite the actions being taken was broken. Fallen to bits, right in front of his eyes. So many parts and pieces. How was he to keep track of them all?

Now he was somewhere cold. Somewhere so bone-chilling that it could only be another cell.

He looked up, scowling. It wasn't a cell. He was in a cage. The conflicting battles inside of him blocked time for a moment, making it seem unmoving when it was passing by, just as if nothing had happened. And before he knew it, someone was lumbering over him. He didn't sense it until he noticed the black shadow on the floor. He looked up.

"I know how it feels, young Harold." The owner of the voice told him, lowering himself down on his knees to come face to face with the distraught boy. "But don't let it control you, boy. You'll only regret it if you do. Trust me, Child of the Eve. I understand."

And the young Harold Saunders was met directly by the face of the oh so powerful Andrew Thorne. The Land's most persevering dictator.

...

Jessie pressed her hands to her ears as the small explosion shook the building. Instantaneously, debris and dust fell from the ceiling blinding her senses. She held her breath as the building continued to vibrate and heard bits and pieces of the steel door clatter uselessly against the stone floor. The blast wasn't as powerful as she thought it'd be, so she was left gasping in surprise

Dust and soot clouded her eyes leaving her seeing stars for a moment. Gasping, she brought her hands from her ears to clutch her throat when the particles entered her airway. She choked forcefully to allow her breaths to enter her system as she blinked hard to gain back her sight. None of this was making any sense to her, the world was spinning around her and she felt sick to the stomach. What was more so terrifying than the dynamite was the fact that she didn't know what Pete intended to use it for. He could be trying to kill her at this very moment, and she'd just be lying there like a fool trying to cough up dusty phlegm. And she'd be completely and utterly useless against him.

Perhaps this was just part of the plan? In shock and in absolute terror, she squinted and looked up through the dust only to meet Pete's eager expression. He didn't look like he was only moments away from murdering her.

"Come on!" He shouted above her frantic thoughts once he had gathered himself together. "We gotta get you outta here!"

Her muscles aching from the tedious disruption, Jessie let her shining green eyes broaden. She pulled herself out from under the bed steadily in caution and lifted herself onto her knees carefully. "What are you talking about?" She asked, obviously quite bewildered by the abrupt change in situation. She tried not to cringe at the dust, but couldn't help herself any further when her eyes began to water. The last few moments had certainly taken their toll on her and she was left feeling completely callous as hysteria infested her nerves. Resisting the urge to cough up the dust clogging her lungs, she asked: "What's happening?"

Pete stepped forward and passed the broken cell door. Reaching out, he took hold of Jessie's hand and hauled her forcefully to her feet. "What d'ya think? The Sheriff's agreed to release you."

Natural disbelief took over her. "He said what?"

Pete ingested the urge to roll his eyes. He half-led, half-supported Jessie to the door where he then pulled out a set of handcuffs. Jessie took notice of this calmly, trying her best not to let anxiety course through her. "Woody told me to tell you to meet him at the train station-"

"What?" Jessie interrupted, absolutely gobsmacked. "Why?"

"He's going to help you find your brother o'course." Pete told her hurriedly, surprisingly not even giving the matter a second thought after how he'd reacted before. "Now go! The station's five blocks to the left of 'ere."

This was all just a little too much for her. She looked into Pete's eyes carefully. Jessie was now perfectly aware of what Pete was intending to do, but why he was agreeing to it was completely and utterly beyond her. "But why?"

"Ask him yourself when you see 'im."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I'm perfectly sure!" Pete proclaimed quickly, reassuring her by nodding swiftly. "Now go! And keep your profile low!"

And that's exactly what she did. She must've been completely beyond herself at that time.

...

A few hours later, Jessie was met by Woodrow Pride's firm gaze in the train's small carriage.

"I think we both know you made a mistake in coming back, Jessica." He muttered, half-heartedly. He brought a freshly drawn cigar to his lips with its head glowing dimly in the groggy light that escaped in through the cabin's dust-sheeted window and took a long drag. All the while he gazed at Jessie meekly slowly letting out the breath he'd been holding. "We'd both be in better positions if you hadn't."

She thought about that for a minute and weakly came to her conclusion as she looked up at him. He hadn't spoken in hours since they'd boarded the train ready to head down to the south, but those simple words there had been enough to make her see sense. She shouldn't have even thought about turning back, but yet heading towards the Sheriff had seemed the safest thing to do. He was a fair and reasonable man of law and saw error in the way the G.E controlled the prospects of life and death. The town he'd been at was bound to have been safe. And to be secure had been Jessie's only hope over the last months. They couldn't go looting through abandoned houses and stores anymore and she herself was very aware of this. It wasn't the life she wanted to live.

Anxiety courses through her making her feel suddenly very uncomfortable in her position. She had gotten what she'd wanted, and Woody said he'd help. It was everything she could hope for at this moment in time.

But it was wrong. Things should not be happening in this way. They should all be miles upon miles away from this country by now, to live free where the General Escorts did not terrorize land. Bullseye 'should' be safe - under her care and guard where he wasn't in danger of being victim to the unexpected. But he wasn't. He was hundreds of miles away from her with the Heavens know who. She dreaded to even think what he might be going through -

He took in more of the smoke and sighed deeply. Directing the trail of heavy-scented smoke away from Jessie, he rested is head back against his seat and dwelled on some lost subject at the back of his mind for a few moments before continuing. Jessie did not interrupt him, but only because she knew that what he'd say to her next was bound to be important. "Now that they have reports of your previous whereabouts, they're not going to stop until you're found."

She quickly diverted her eyes towards the window to gaze at the outside. The spirited mountain ranges spread around in every direction making the country seem carefree and boundless in a way that made Jessie feel somewhat envious. The train was passing through the Districts with easy glide as it rode on farther into the night. Rain drops pit-pattered against the roof calming her thoughts vaguely. Brilliance of Nature always settled her whenever her senses were delved into the pitiless state of consternation, but now it didn't even seem to have half of this affect on her. She shook her head sighing deeply. Jessie couldn't act oblivious to the Sheriff's common logic for much longer. The truth can only be procrastinated for so long, and she was becoming painfully aware of this. Perhaps it was just the fret of the moment?

Oh, she gave up. Flitting her gaze back to the dimness of the cabin, she met his gaze again and felt that same feeling stir up within her soul. It was an unpretentious feeling that made her feel truly at home inside whenever its grace and warmth tenderly touched her heart. Patching her spirits internally from the grief of having lost her brother in the middle of the world of chaos and dispute where anything goes, she relished in its delicacy as she closed her eyes for just that one moment. Despite that she could tell that the Sheriff was taken aback by her sudden ease, she simply revelled in the peace while she could temporarily dismissing his question. It was all she could do to keep herself together, and eventually Woody came to realize this through her meditating expression. They had hours left on this journey, so there was no need to be in any rush for answers. He could wait - so he did.

A rocky bump in the track sent vibrations coursing through her spine making her jolt back to reality an unpleasant one. Woody narrowed his gaze in befuddlement and carefully watched her as she went back to her mental mind-map to desperately search for the words she needed. Of course they'd be after here. Following the havoc back at the jailhouse, the patrollers were bound to be suspicious. They weren't blind as bats, and their smarts supported this. Obviously, they knew that women (and even men in some particular times) would be willing to go to drastic measures to hide their appearance. And when fugitives of the law are scattered all over the place, the chances and risks could not be overlooked.

Wearily, she said: "I know that, Woody." She paused to think, but it didn't help. "But there was nowhere else to go."

What an unusual thing to say, Jessie thought bitterly. She was only half-aggravated with herself because she still thought it necessary to have even gone to a place of safety where essentials would've been guaranteed, no matter how scarce they might be. Woody took in another puff of his cigarette and pondered over that expression. The look that had followed her claim had appeared as one of pure despair, and internally it stabbed him like an archaic knife rusted by the years of darkness faced. Thought he wouldn't admit this, a part of him was glad he was helping. The boy he knew to be named Bullseye was a very fragile one and he didn't know what would happen to him if he was where Woody thought he might be. He didn't think it good that the G.E would handle people in such a way, but he knew what they were capable of thanks to his upbringing. They were merciless and hunted down their prey like vicious animals in battle.

Blowing out the smoke slowly closing his own eyes for moral support, he thought only briefly. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Jessie was looking very disconsolate and found himself despising that expression. He didn't want to see her like this. After all, she had been through so much and deserved her freedom. But the right to live carelessly still hadn't been given to her and now they were looking for a speck of dust upon a heap of brilliant, shining diamonds because of it.

He opened his eyes and looked for the comfort of her zealous eyes again. "I know you're restricted, Jessica," He said, finally. She lifted her head slightly to glance at him intently. "But heading back towards the head Area full of patrollers who'd stab you in the back without giving it a second thought? What were you thinking?"

Silence drawled. It spoke for itself, in many cases, like the fading chant of a dying soul so desperate to be heard. Spinning and flipping over in her mind, she wanted so passionately to be free from the discomfort that now plagued her spirit. She needed everything to be the way it should be. Carnage set afoot in her soul made her think of the people she'd lost because of the way the world was. Sickness had taken away her mother; the world's unworldly dictators took her father and had kidnapped her brother. And something had slaughtered a person who'd helped her at a time of great need - her parent's old friend.

Distraught continued to spread inside at that thought. She'd been grieving over it all day internally feeling like another part of her soul had split apart from her core. Tragedy ensued when the sunken feeling overtook her senses and logic. Canir had helped her and her brother when they'd been at risk of starvation, for he had known her through Saunders and had been willing to help out an old friend in the deceased's favour. In consequence of this, something must have turned when she'd gone into the streets to purchase supplies. For when she found him, the sight had been utterly terrifying. And it had broken her completely to see it, and then the way her brother had looked at her -

She was broken from her thoughts again short-handed by another jolt in the journey's course. Jessie met eyes with Woody again and was reminded of the subject they'd been speaking about only previously. Quickly she formed the answer in her mind. Though she couldn't find her voice, she whispered: "I don't know." Her answer was far from taut. It sounded patched in despair that came close to letting Woody's heart sink. He shifted awkwardly in his side and continued his smoking to help settle down his superlatively engaged nerves. He never tried to smoke too often as it was a bad habit to get into, but the time was calling for it at this moment. It was the only thing to keep him at peace with his mind. "I just…"

"Just what, Jessica?" He drawled, impatiently. He hadn't meant to sound so bitter with his words, but he felt it hard to control his tone of voice. His heart was screaming out to him so many things making him feel confused and disoriented as he observed her meekly. They all revolved around how he felt inside. How a part of him was glad she was with him again when his mind was taking account of the risks he so desperately wanted to overlook. He'd missed her despite their disputes and secretly wanted to feel the extraordinary warmth of her comfort again. He was going beyond himself completely, but it was something he felt he needed nonetheless.

The wordlessness on her part stood evidently in place for itself. Its stubborn but worn heart seemed to gnaw at the Sheriff's senses and he was starting to feel uneasy. Whether the answer was there or not, it was going to take up a heck of a lot more than just a little bit of meticulous subdue to extract the information he needed from her. Well-founded, he let the sigh he'd been holding fade into his weary senses and pulled a small, fold-up ashtray from his pocket and quickly put his cigarette out.

It became evident she wasn't going to answer his question when another few moments of silence passed between them, thick and heavy like the passing of the dusk. Jessie's eyes were locked on the floor as the train continued its travel through the great wilderness of the unexplored country. She was pondering over something strange to her and the thoughts crossing her mind set her nerves ill at ease. Her emotions were riding a literal trail made obscure by the passing of blistering winters and morale winds and she'd never felt this way before. Either, on regular occasions, she was either full of hopeful despair or she was enviously impervious. She never rocketed from one to another coming across all other different kinds of 'feelings' in this way. The rocking motions left her nauseous and bemused, giving her the space to drift off topic. Again, Woody took note of this. The General Escorts must've severely gotten to her by taking her brother. The whole situation just left him with guilt welling up inside him.

It was hard to describe, his emotions at the current point in time. Unnecessary traces of pity made him stodgy inside when he sought her gaze to no avail. He tried to imagine himself in her position, but soon saw that this was near impossible. Not only had he not suffered the burden of her fate, but had never placed his love in a person to even begin imagining what it must be like to lose that one individual -

His thoughts were side-tracked for a moment when he realized that this assumption would be a massive understatement on his part. As a subliminal thought caressed his senses oh so gently, his recollection was being drawn back to that very day that still held down that copious weight on his soul.

- You don't want to get yourself down that line again… -

- Why do you even care? -

- Jess, I think you know -

A moment of silence.

- It's not fair! How can you let them do this to us? -

Woody let a sigh escape. From his core, the melancholy was expanding into his heart making him drowsy as the life-forsaken moment passed between them both. To his fortune, Jessie was lost in a trance of her own allowing Woody to ponder over the voices in his head as the time strode along like a deadbeat wilderbeast. As a person he was stricken outside of the logic he counted on to make most of his choices. Pedantically, he wasn't a fleshed individual due to what he'd been taught to believe by his father. And legitimately, it was sad.

Life was meant to be sought and dealt with by the core. If control of every aspect could be grasped before the chance was taken by thirsty competitors, then he'd be handling his life in the correct way. Without fundamental control, how are they expected to get through life? A plan was to be made, brought together with its pieces falling astray at childhood, and through that life could be conjured and the dictators could be paid the respect they deserve. Nothing was more important that putting work into the community and training vigorously and effectively to expand the routes that could be tracked down in life heading towards boringly important opportunities that really would contribute towards the running of this country. This was all Woodrow Pride had been taught to believe - that life was ready to throw you overboard so always be prepared with a back-up plan to climb on top of any given situation. It was rather blatant, in his opinion. But if his father had abided by it, then it must be sufficient enough -

The concept of this made him think of his father further. He'd only just realized that Raymond Pride had been the execution of three named Long-Runs and had been topped off completely at the news clearly clarifying that Jessie's own parent had been one of these said individuals. It was almost hard to believe that his father was a murderer, whether it benefited the sake of society or not. Not only had he slaughtered three men, but one of them had been personally connected to Jessica.

His mind sauntered further through this prospect despite his attempts to change the subject. Due to what Raymond had willingly done for the sake of the General Escorts, Jessie's life had been turned completely upside-down. And now they had her brother. A helpless, innocent young boy stranger to the pros of life and the miracles of the uncontaminated Earth, under the hands of the G.E known to be merciless to any man, woman, or child who stood in their way. He had no idea what they'd do and the possibilities set him heading towards a state of consternation -

"Woody?"

Startled, he looked up towards the source of the taut voice and finally met the round, sorrowful eyes he hated meeting. They were exactly like the ones he'd seen that day.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry..." Then he came to realise that of course he knew what it was like to lose someone close to him. He'd grown connected to her in the years they'd known each other and then he'd lost her. Simple as that. It'd torn his heart right open. The painful look in her eyes turned into despair. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

Blowing out his breath on strained lungs, he stood up and sat down besides her at the other side of the cabin. The space was small; barely enough to hold half a dozen people, so he needn't make any effort to cross over. Jessie watched him meekly as he settled down beside her feeling quite taken aback but remaining still in her place. She made no reaction to this and waited for him solicitously.

"I know." He said, simply. Drowsy, he brought his hands together and set them down between his knees. He directed his eyes towards the window observing the natural scenery they were passing lit by the moon's natural sunlight. Jessie noticed how he was entranced and followed his stare. As before, the sight she met was astonishing. The mountains folding together towards the East were absolutely astounding with their majestic tops and their exhilarating presence. It was very different from the rest of the country, Jessie observed. The skies could actually be seen from the country whereas pollution made this impossible back in the city. Stars were shining compassionately from where they wandered through the mass abyss of black canvas stretching and reaching above and beyond her previous comprehension. They were so free up their where they belonged, like they were meant to be there for eternity and longer.

She'd never noticed them back before the facade of grey and brown started masking everything she saw. She wondered now how she could've coped all that time not taking notice of the wonders of the Universe that brought all of the fascinations of Nature and free-will together to form one perfect collage altogether capable of rendering her completely and utterly gobsmacked. It was breathtaking. Simple as.

Breaking the silence, she cleared her throat. Woody's attention was captured heartedly. "It's so different from the city, ain't it?"

Woody observed the country for a few more moments in response to this question. "It sure is."

The Sheriff still wasn't clear whether he should place his trust in her or not. Of course, he was aware he'd face severe punishment if he was caught red-handed in the act. It was only common instinct settling down upon him to think this to be so. But something was just so different about her. And he knew what it was. With any regular Dead End, he'd have rejected the possibility of branding himself a blasphemer for their sake. He wasn't going to do this to her; that was undeniable. She held such a strong spirit in her core that shone vibrantly bewildering him with its passion to be free, it was impossible for him to even consider letting her down. Especially when there was a child at stake. If he failed to help them on their paths towards better lives, then he didn't know what he'd do.

Now that their lives were at stake, the Sheriff had his only available path laid out before him on golden platter - and he regretted nothing. He need only find suitable silverware to use and then he could deal with the situation appropriately. And it could save the lives of them all.

She let out the breath she'd been holding, her stare unmoving. "I've never been to this part of the country before."

"Have you not?"

"No," She answered, meekly. Her voice faltered slightly, but she figuratively urged herself forward to carry on. "I wasn't raised in this country."

"I've only seen the country a few times," He commented, half in thought. He rested his head back against the headboard tilting his head to admire the view. The scenery was constantly moving often making him go cross-eyed, but the sight was fixed in place enough to allow the extraordinary senses to creep into him. He was purely and simple awe-inspired. "I wasn't taken here often as a child and naturally avoided it as an adult." He paused for a few moments, but continued swiftly enough as though nothing had happened. "We're nearing the rural land, y'see. Always is quite different for the eyes. The industrial and the rural land are like two different words." He commented thoughtfully, drawing Jessie in soothingly with his sensual and relaxing voice. "Always have been."

Jessie took his remark in casually and allowed her gaze to wander across the landscape. The colours of velvet black and the silvery moonlight were criss-crossing along the horizon playing sentimentally with her wonder causing her to feel more at home than she'd ever done before. She wanted to meet sights like this everyday and imagined it'd be a hundred times more overwhelming if Bullseye had been there to gape admiringly at the miracles of the Universe surrounding communities always overlook. He'd be amazed by the brilliance the Earth working in harmony with the rest of matter had to offer. She knew he would and the thought saddened her deeply.

"I can imagine it'd be."

After another few dwelling moments, he turned his attention back to her. "When you say you weren't born in this country, were you born up North?"

She shook her head, dismissing his idea. "No. More down south."

"Mexico?"

"A bit further down than that." She said and followed Woody's example by leaning back on the headboard. "I'd been raised there ever since I was a child by my parents in an English speaking town. Occasionally, we came across some foreigners, but I never paid that much attention to them." She pushed herself forward again on her fingertips and looked through the dusty window to gaze once more at the beautiful land extending up to and beyond what the eye could see. Lifting her gaze back up to the stars, she felt half-hearted tranquillity perch in her soul again. "And I never appreciated the stars..."

"I can imagine it'd be hard to if you're used to them."

"Yeah..." She murmured slowly, only to cut herself off from saying anything more when she sensed something change in the general atmosphere. Woody noticed it too, because he stiffened instantaneously. Then she noticed what it was. Vibrations coursing through the train's carriage were few and far between. It hadn't been like that before. Jessie allowed her expression to arch. "Is this our stop?"

"I don't think so," He answered in thought. "We don't stop for another few hours yet." Woody knew something was wrong when he accidentally stumbled across his mind map. He'd recorded every single stop this train took to get to the destination.

And this stop wasn't one.

The train came to an abrupt halt several moments later with its doors opening to allow passengers onboard. The stop was relatively short as it usually lasted long enough for at least a dozen to get on. Woody internally recorded that no more than half a dozen people could've ventured on in that short amount of time as the train took back off on its journey only a few moments afterwards.

Slightly startled, Jessie turned her head to face the Sheriff. "Was that normal?"

"I don't know," He muttered in precaution. "But be on guard - just in case."

They waited in silence as the train carried forward on in its venture past the rural borders and through into the wondrous country-side. Both felt quite off-put by the venture's sudden stop and were ready for any abrupt discrepancies. Perhaps it was just a compulsory stop that hadn't been mentioned previously? After all, the Sheriff had never been on this route through the country before. So there were bound to be certain aspects Woody'd overlooked.

The Sheriff kept himself focused after that unexpected delay. Surely all was well, but he couldn't be sure of this. Especially when he had the offspring of a Long Run on his hands; the blood of a very noble and wise general escort running feverously through his veins. To betray the G.E would be the worst crime he could ever commit against his name -

Jessie almost jumped out of her skins when the door to the carriage was opened. Woodrow was almost shocked, but had been half-expecting something and simply turned his head to his left with a spectacle expression. The door was ajar giving space for two men to pass through. Oddly curious, the Sheriff and the Dead End observed them briefly with subtle motions. One of the men was taller than the other by a few inches with close-cut fair hair and a fitted expression suited perfectly for a long-serving member of the General Escorts. Jessie was first to spot this and stiffened in her place as her breath caught in her throat. The shorter of the two had much darker hair but a slightly smoother jaw line. There was one thing in common between them though. And this was that the eyes of both were fixated...

The taller of the two turned to them. "Is it all right to sit in here? Everywhere else is full."

Inwardly, Woody and Jessie were very shocked. They exchanged glances again and came to the same conclusion. The two nodded their approval.

"Thanks."

...

A few hours had passed before someone passed through the doors of the Sheriff's station. Eerie silence followed as the patroller stepped through soundlessly scrutinizing the area around him with careful gaze. Pete looked to his right at the coming of the new presence and had his russet eyes widen in artificial morale. The tall individual at the door was unlike anyone Pete had ever seen before with a protruding shoulder line and eyes infatuated altogether creating one look subjugating enough to make the bounty hunter feel at unease with himself.

The Patroller flitted his cold stare around the room to appraise what he saw. He spotted the broken cell door and the wall broken at its side from the hectic force of a small, but effective explosion but noted this with only peculiar grace. When his gaze fell upon the old man chained to a pipe with handcuffs, he automatically assumed that he was not too bright.

"What happened?" The Patroller's deep tone instinctively reflected his bulging character, and this left the old Prospector on edge. "I've had reports from the town that a disturbance was heard around here."

_And yet it took them almost three hours to respond_, Pete thought mockingly. Nevertheless, he kept his expression secured in anticipation.

"She escaped!" Unbeknownst to him, he was admitting far more than he originally intended. "I was just here minding me own business, when she came out with dynamite!" The Patroller rolled his eyes aggravating Pete slightly. "And she came at me before I could even think!" Intentionally, Pete was attempting to use one certain factor of his appearance to his advantage.

"Where is the Sheriff?" That was a question Pete hadn't expected. Though, now that the words were brought in matter, he realized he should've planned further ahead than he had. "He'd supposed to be keeping guard of the station, isn't he?"

Damn look'a'bouts are told all sorts of things these days. Unnecessary, in Pete's opinion, but it was a factor that was gaining its fair share on the situation. He quickly glanced around the room as a bead of sweat dampened his forehead. Eventually he realized he couldn't hold off the answer any longer without rousing suspicion with its nose pointed directly at him. "He was called out of town-" He paused briefly after his stammer, and looked back to the patroller. "You think you could help me out of these? The keys are on a hook by the desk."

Pete obviously had a set on him, and the Patroller wasn't overlooking the bounty hunter's 'supposed stupidity'. Barely giving the matter a second thought, he said: "Thorne said a Dead End was to be heading here, Mr. Smith." Pete's eyes widened in horror. How on Earth... "I reckon sir Thorne would really appreciate a talk with an old friend."

And then Pete's senses dropped completely -

...

Silence rode on in relation to the train's heading quest. Woody and Jessie were still foxed in their place anxious about the two sitting only a few feet away from them observing their surroundings carefully and quietly. Occasionally the redhead would unintentionally make eye contact with one of the two men and would feel her anxiety rocket sky-high when they politely put on a smile.

Eventually, she couldn't handle the commotion of spontaneity and turned towards Woody to whisper in his ear. "Woody, should we move?" He thought only briefly before he shook his head subtly. This answer was enough to force her back, though she still felt on-edge inside. Woody had sense enough to come up with this, as she knew she'd only gain suspicion if they jumped to any abrupt conclusions. And with Bullseye at stake through her actions, this was a mistake she couldn't afford to make.

The Sheriff wasn't sure how long had passed since their last stop, but he knew that the next one was bound to be made sooner or later. Only a small stop, he'd learned, one that was perched near one of the biggest lakes of the area. Perhaps they would depart their? He knew it was farfetched, frankly, but a part of him still remained hopeful. He directed his gaze back to the window and inspected the land reaching beyond what he could see. The sky was turning flaccid now with a wide range of oranges and silky shades embedding themselves into the silver of the moonlight, so he guessed that they must be nearing early morning now. Jessie noticed this but kept her posture unmoving.

Tension broke out when a small humming sound was heard. Jessie snapped to her senses in fright and lifted her head to face the shorter of the two men who was reaching into his pocket. He caught the attention of his friend instantly and Jessie observed them discreetly. The Sheriff then followed Jessie's example by cautiously directing his gaze towards the others.

The short man pulled a dark device out of his pocket and held it out in front of him. Woody recognized what it was instantly but it caught Jessie by surprise. She had no idea what it was, but it clearly seemed to be some sort of technological device quite foreign to her. Her parents had never been fond on them, and only used the town's public phones to make any necessary communication to those out of reach. With arched eyebrows, she briefly exchanged glances with Woody and saw that he knew exactly what it was. This made her feel slightly at a disadvantage as he knew something she didn't, but tried not to let this show through her expression.

Shock passed through the Sheriff and the redhead when the short man chuckled to himself. Woody knew very well what he was holding, but that was what was the most disconcerting. Only the most loyal of the respected had the privileges of owning a mobile-device. And, nine times in ten, these people were ones of the General Escorts.

"What is it, Martin?" The taller individual asked, leaning over Martin's shoulder.

"One of my brother's watchers reported a Dead End missing from Area Eight," He stated, simply. Another sigh of humour, and a grin spread across his face. "My, oh my, my dear brother does have his hands full."

"Who is it?"

"Oh, a woman apparently." Jessie's heart froze right in its tracks. She was sure Woody could detect her unsettlement because he stiffened in his place, still in full-blown anticipation. "By the name of Jane, supposedly. They already have hold of her brother." Now she was completely unable to contain herself. She instinctively took hold of Woody's hand with a tight grip. He didn't object to this in the slightest, instead giving her hand a small squeeze in attempt to settle her senses down. Perfectly aware of how she'd be feeling inside, Woody knew they had to keep their profile low to avoid being identified. "Must've been a coward to flee whilst he was caught."

She bit the insides of her lips. Something so dreadful was building up inside her as she clung onto her only source of comfort for Dear Life. It was terrible, being in this state. She confirmed she must be absolutely desperate.

"You're telling me," Martin chuckled again in response. "No wonder she's up for death." Jessie could taste the iron in her blood. "What's she up to charges for?"

Martin Thorne replied slowly and softly. "The daughter of a Long Run..." Several moments of wordlessness passed before he looked across the cabin. His eyes were trained on Jessie and it took every single ounce of her will power to keep herself concentrated on the task. Woody looked back out on the horizon again, and spotted that the lake ahead was only a few miles away. "What did you say you're name was, again, Ma'am?"

"I-I didn't, sir." She told him simply. Though only few words had been exchanged, she felt carnage fuse inside of her viciously.

"That's funny," Martin remarked calmly. His grin turned smug. "That's exactly what he said you'd say."

Before she even had the chance to react, she was hauled to her feet by a very strong force. When she eventually gathered her senses, Woody had already pulled her out of the carriage. In terror, she looked back but saw no-one pursuing them as yet.

"Woody!"

"We have to get off this train, Jess." He proclaimed, daring not to look behind him. "We can't risk it."

"What?"

"Just follow me."

...

She couldn't believe it.

"Woody?" She exclaimed in panic as they crouched against the blistering winds. The train was about to cross the lake any moment now on the narrow rail tracks and they had to be ready to make the leap. They could literally leap right off the train due to the narrow tracks cropping up health and safety risks wherever it went. Woody had no idea whether they were going to be followed or not, but he definitely knew it was unsafe to remain where they were. So actions had to be made. And, in this case, they were Death-defying. Quite literally. "Are you crazy?"

The fall must be twenty feet at least. She could barely believe it - that he was actually prepared to jump right off the train and into unknown waters. They could kill themselves doing it.

"It's this or nothing, Jess!" He shouted above the winds as he crossed to the roof's edge. Still keeping firm grip on her hand, Jessie had no choice but to follow him.

"But you're going to kill yourself!"

"The lake's eight metres at least. We have a better chance taking the leap than risking it."

She did not respond to this. They only had seconds left to brace themselves. She could already spot the moonlight on the crystal waters. Fearfully, she asked: "Woody... When _is_the right time to jump off a train?"

They had ten seconds left at the best.

"Never!" He exclaimed, rising to his feet unsteadily. "Now, come on!"

Then she realized the worst of the situation. "But I can't swim!"

"Neither can I..." He muttered, right as he took the death leap towards what could only be instant death or a lucky escape, pulling Jessie down with him as she cried out in pure terror.

And then their lives hung on the balance.


End file.
